Caffrey Vignettes
by penna.nomen
Summary: Each chapter is a complete vignette in the CC AU where Peter recruited Neal instead of arresting him. Topics: spring break, Burke family cabin, ghost stories, birthdays, laser tag, puppies, April Fool's, Mozzie as a Ghostbuster, Mother's Day, Nancy Drew, magic, Harry Potter, Neal as a wizard. Characters: Neal, Peter, Elizabeth, Mozzie, Jones, Diana, Hughes, June
1. Chapter 1 - Spring Break

_A/N: This Spring Break chapter is set in March, 2005, after "The Mirror" by Silbrith in this same AU. Neal has completed a dangerous op and needs to unwind. He thinks he just wants peace and quiet, but he'd be bored without a little mystery, right?_

 _I'll try to make each vignette friendly for new readers to the AU. In the end notes for each chapter, I'll provide more background about the characters and references to other stories in the AU in case you want to visit (or revisit) those older scenes._

 **FBI** **Manhattan White Collar Division. Thursday afternoon. March 3, 2005.**

Agent Peter Burke stayed busy with meetings throughout the day so that he wouldn't hover but he kept checking the time. At two o'clock he walked over to Neal Caffrey's desk. "You okay?"

Neal saved a document and stopped staring at his computer screen. "I've always said mortgage fraud cases were the most boring thing at the Bureau, but I may have underestimated medical reimbursement forms."

"All you have to do is stop taking crazy risks. No trips to the hospital, no more paperwork." Peter said it calmly, because he knew Neal had been on edge leading up to Tuesday's op. Two days later they were both finally starting to relax. Rather than rehashing their arguments about those crazy risks he'd mentioned, Peter simply said, "You're working half-days the rest of this week, remember? Ten to two. Time for you to head out. Those forms aren't going anywhere."

"Unfortunately," Neal agreed. He powered down the computer and grabbed his jacket.

"You're going to take it easy this afternoon, right?" Peter prompted.

"Sure. I'll spend some time at the loft before heading to tonight's class." Neal was in his second semester of graduate school, studying art history and visual arts.

After a year of working together, Peter could usually tell when Neal was trying to con him. The vague answer, the smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, those were all clues that Neal wasn't as calm as he pretended to be. The stress of being deep in a con in order to convince a ruthless criminal that they were alike did a number on his psyche. Thus the insistence that Neal ease back into the office routine. Hopefully being around his friends at Columbia would help thaw out the emotions Neal had frozen to get through the op.

 **Aloha** **Emporium. Thursday afternoon. March 3, 2005.**

After changing out of his suit into jeans and a Columbia sweatshirt, Neal was restless. Instead of pacing in his loft at June Ellington's mansion, he went to the Aloha Emporium. Settling in at an empty table in the cafe section of the Hawaii-themed shop, he ordered a cup of Kona coffee, and started to review the latest assignment for his Computational Art class.

His mind, however, kept returning to a comment June had made on his way out. She'd mentioned that his birthday was coming up and asked if he had plans.

Neal leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. He really wanted to skip the whole birthday thing this year. Given a choice, he'd like to relax and not have a bunch of family and friends staring at him, willing him to be merry. Next year, sure, he'd do the party thing again if that's what they wanted, but right now he needed a break.

How could he convince Henry of that without setting off alarms about his state of mind?

It wouldn't be easy. The tradition of Henry planning surprise birthday celebrations had started eight years ago when Neal turned eighteen, shortly after running away from home. His mother had broken WITSEC protocol to contact her family and asked for help tracking down the runaway. The end result had been twenty-year old cousin Henry finding Neal in Chicago, but Henry also had demons he was running from. Instead of returning to their homes, they'd spent the next few years on the road, living hand-to-mouth and eking out a living as con artists, pick pockets, gamblers, musicians… The list went on and on.

That first birthday they'd spent at an amusement park, and the celebrations had grown increasingly elaborate from there. But maybe this year Neal could get a head start. If he made his own plans now, he'd have the upper hand for once.

Right. What did normal people do for their birthdays?

Neal looked around and saw Angela. She was about as normal as his friends got, and she shared his frustration with Henry's bossiness. She'd be the perfect accomplice for this.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Angela Caffrey saw her cousin Neal enter the Emporium, but she remained behind the counter balancing the shop's books. He'd helped her get the part-time job here after she started graduate school at Columbia this semester. It had been a little over a year since they'd first met as adults, right after he started working for the FBI.

When Neal waved a hand in front of her face she removed her headphones and turned off her MP3 player, but not fast enough to keep him from recognizing the song. He raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Just some failed plans for spring break bringing me down." She glanced at her MP3 player for a moment before continuing. "Over the summer when Henry had us posing as rock stars - that was the only time I've ever been to Las Vegas. I thought it'd be fun to go back, spend some time in the resorts, try out the gourmet restaurants and even try my hand at gambling. The problem is, when I mentioned it to Michael, he took it the wrong way." She could feel her cheeks warming at the mention of Neal's fellow art student and her new boyfriend. "When I asked if he'd like to go to Vegas with me over spring break, he thought I was proposing we hit one of the quickie wedding chapels. He kind of freaked out."

"That's why you were listening to 'Cry' by Faith Hill?"

"I go for country music when I'm sad."

"Spring break's the week of March 14, right?"

"Yeah. It was always something I looked forward at the University of Washington." She smiled at the happy memories. "My freshman year some friends and I went to the Skagit Valley Tulip Festival. The fields of flowers were glorious, and we spent a day there and then went up to Victoria, BC for a few days. The next year there'd been a record snowfall and the ski resorts in the Cascades were still open, so we headed into the mountains. The year after that we went to the Washington coast, hitting some of the cute little towns like Ocean Shores and Pacific Beach. Last year we went hiking in the Olympic Mountains; it has a rain forest, you know. The scenery was amazing."

"I didn't realize you were so outdoorsy."

Angela shrugged. "I prefer living in a city, but for vacations I like to get back to nature sometimes."

"No _Girls Gone Wild_ moments, then?"

It took an effort not to snort. "Can you imagine what our grandfather would say? What about you? Any memorable spring breaks?"

"Not really. There wasn't money for stuff like that when I was in high school, and I skipped the undergrad experience."

It wasn't a surprise when she thought about it, but still Angela couldn't help exclaiming, "You've never had a spring break! Oh, we have to fix that. What are you going to do this year?"

"Well, nothing. I mean, it's a little late to ask for a week off of work. I just thought I'd take a long weekend. My birthday's the Monday after spring break."

"You can combine them, I suppose." She paused. "Unless Henry already made plans?"

A stubborn look flashed across Neal's face. "He hasn't mentioned anything. Besides, like you said, it's my first real spring break. Anyone would understand I want to make my own plans for that."

She grinned at the thought of their older cousin's reaction. "Yeah, maybe that'll work, if you make those plans fast."

"You'll help, right?" Neal waited for her to nod. "Your previous vacations sounded good, but I'd rather stay local. What do people do for spring break around here?"

"Oh, there are lots of options. Atlantic City, for instance. Or if you want to follow my old routine of heading into the great outdoors, go up to the Catskills maybe. The resort you went to for that case in January, that sounded fun."

Neal looked thoughtful. "I could make something like that work. What if I arranged a trip to the Catskills for you, me and Henry?"

"I get to come along?" Angela hopped down from the stool behind the counter and hugged him. "I'd love it!"

"One thing, though. Once I tell Henry about it, he may try to take over. He's used to dictating what we do - thinks it's his right because he's the oldest. Just remember this is my plan, and you're on my side. Got it?"

She gave him a sharp salute she'd learned as an Air Force brat. "Aye, sir! You're in charge of Operation Spring Break."

 **Burke** **residence, Brooklyn, NY. Thursday evening. March 3, 2005.**

"Are you okay, hon?" Elizabeth Burke asked her husband midway through the meal.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry." Peter looked at his wife apologetically. As patient as she was about the demands of his job, he should pay attention when she described her day.

"Still worried about Neal?"

He couldn't deny it. El knew he'd woken from nightmares the last two nights. His mind still wouldn't let go of all the things that could have gone wrong during the op earlier this week. "Hughes reminded me it's been more than a year since Neal's firearm certification. That means it's expired, and I need to get him recertified by the end of the month or there will be a reprimand because he took a gun into the Met Tuesday for that showdown with Keller."

El frowned. She'd been present last spring as Neal flashed back to a childhood incident when he'd witnessed a shooting. "Neal hates guns. I can't imagine he'll want to go to a firing range for certification."

Peter nodded. "It also goes counter to my goal of not stressing him out."

"I wonder…" El trailed off, seeming lost in thought for a moment. "Could you schedule it for when Henry's back in town? They're so competitive, maybe if they were both at the firing range it would seem more like a game."

"Good idea. He mentioned he'll be back for Neal's birthday, but we didn't have time to discuss how long he'll stay or what he has in mind. Did he talk to you about it when he was here?" Henry had stayed at their home when he came to New York recently in order to surprise Neal.

"No, but both of you were so upset about Neal's plan to fake his death. Everything else took a back seat to that."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Elizabeth kept a straight face until Peter took Satchmo out for a walk. Then she indulged in a pleased smile. She'd told Peter the truth. It wasn't until after Henry left New York that he called her to discuss Neal's birthday.

The party last year for Neal's twenty-fifth birthday had involved bringing the young man back into the arms of family members who hadn't been in his life since he'd gone into WITSEC as a young child. Henry's goal had been for Neal to become comfortable around his family, and it had worked. By the end of the year he'd been completely at ease spending the holidays in Hawaii with the Caffreys, Winslows and Burkes when Henry's mother Noelle Caffrey Winslow married Peter's older brother, Joe Burke.

This year, Henry had something different in mind. He wanted it to be a surprise for both Peter and Neal, but had asked for El's help in bringing everything together. She picked up her phone to leave a message for him. The firearm certification was a twist they hadn't accounted for.

 **Henry** **Winslow's apartment, Baltimore, MD. Monday evening. March 7, 2005.**

Henry opened a beer and plopped down on his sofa. It had been a long day at Winston-Winslow, the elite private investigation and security company his great-grandfather had started forty-some years ago. At first Henry had resisted joining the family business, but he had a gift for investigating that couldn't be denied. Today had been the kind of day he hated, spent mostly in meetings.

After ordering a pizza, Henry turned his attention to his side project: Neal's birthday. June had confirmed by email that she'd reminded Neal of the upcoming birthday, and Elizabeth had been rallying the forces on her side while still keeping her husband in the dark. Angela was the biggest wildcard, and he called her to check in.

"I'm not sure about this," Angela said when he mentioned Project Happy Birthday. "Neal's getting really excited about his plans."

"That's good," Henry said. "We want him to be happy."

"But he wants to choose what we do."

"Exactly. That's my gift to him. He gets to choose."

Angela huffed. "But we're following your script. All that stuff you wanted me to tell him, it led him to pick what you wanted."

"No, it led him to pick what I knew _he_ _wanted_. Entirely different. We're simply helping him discover what he wants."

"I don't want to lie to him."

"You won't have to. Other than that subterfuge with Michael, pretending things are strained between the two of you, you're not misleading anyone. Everything you told him about your past spring breaks was true. There's nothing wrong about you bringing up the subject to get his reaction."

"What if instead of picking the Catskills, he'd offered to go along to Vegas with me?"

"Then we'd have gone to Vegas. That was always a contingency in my plan. Like I said, we're doing what Neal wants. I'm simply facilitating behind the scenes."

"I wish I could be sure of that. It still feels like you're using that master's degree in psychology to manipulate us all."

"You're being paranoid," Henry insisted. There was a knock on his door. "That's my pizza. I'll catch up with you again later."

He was putting the leftovers in the fridge when Peter Burke called. "Listen, Henry, the CEO of Win-Win contacted us today. He wants to come up to New York to strategize on the Vincent Adler case, and mentioned he'd like to do some team building with us."

"Yeah, Allen mentioned that in a meeting today."

"He says he wants to schedule it for March 21. Neal's birthday. You really want Neal to spend his birthday in meetings?"

"No, I wanted to take him to Vegas for a long weekend, but he decided to make other plans. He told me I can join the road trip up to the Catskills, and that you're assisting in his attempt to overthrow all my ideas."

"I get that you're used to planning surprises for his birthday, but he's an adult now. You gotta take his wishes into account, you know."

Henry sighed. "Yeah. I'm not gonna get in the way of this trip up to the Burke family cabin. He's convinced me that this is what he and Angela both want."

"You can drop the put-upon act. This 'team building' Allen mentioned has your fingerprints all over it. You wanted to control at least one aspect of what we do on Neal's birthday. What exactly do you have in mind?"

"When I talked to Neal yesterday, he was kind of stressed about the firearm certification. We know he'll ace the test, but holding a gun will trigger memories of the shooting he witnessed as a kid. I'd like to be there for the certification. If he's competing with me to see who's the best marksman, he'll be less in his head and more in the moment, and then I can stay the night in his loft to make sure he's okay afterward."

"The team building event is a marksmanship contest?" Peter asked.

Henry smiled. He'd done some research into the location the Manhattan FBI team used for their certification. As innocently as he could manage, he said, "I'd like to do something else afterward that would be fun for Neal with some of his friends from work. Are there any options near the firing range? That way it would seem more random and not like something we planned specifically for his birthday."

"As a matter of fact, last year Neal noticed something connected to the range that he wanted to try, but we didn't have time. It could be ideal for a team building event." Peter got more and more excited as he described exactly what Henry already had in mind.

 **Peter** **Burke's car, upstate New York. Thursday morning. March 17, 2005.**

Peter and Elizabeth Burke sat in the front seat of his car, with Angela sandwiched between Henry and Neal in the back seat. Having picked Henry up at the airport, the plan was to drop the cousins at the Burke family cabin, and then Peter and El would continue to Albany to spend a couple of days with Peter's parents. They'd return Sunday evening for the trip back to New York City.

Neal was pleasantly surprised at Henry's peaceful acquiescence to the spring break plans. Sure, he'd complained a bit when Neal first made it clear that he was in charge this year, but ever since then Henry had gone along.

It had been easy.

Too easy?

Neal pondered that while the others described the cabin to Angela. They were telling her how Peter's father and uncles had purchased the cabin decades ago, for their families to share. These days Peter's mother Betty kept the schedule of who was using the cabin when.

More than three weeks ago, Neal had called El to learn how to reserve the cabin. If it had been booked, he'd have looked into one of the Catskill resorts instead, but that would have put a strain on his budget. El had put him in touch with Betty.

During a pause in the conversation in the car, Neal said, "When I called Betty, she mentioned how lucky it was that no one was using the cabin this week. She said it tends to be in high demand over spring break, but this year everyone had made plans elsewhere."

"You're right," said Peter. "Usually one of my cousins books the cabin for spring break. I guess their kids are getting to the age where they want to do something on their own, instead of a family vacation."

Elizabeth immediately jumped in with a reminder to her husband about needing to stop at the grocery store on the way so there would be fresh food. She looked a little flustered.

 _Interesting_.

Normally he left conspiracy theories to Mozzie, but this time Neal believed something was up. Someone was manipulating things behind the scenes. And Henry was the master manipulator.

When they stopped at the grocery store, El and Angela were eager to go inside and pick out food for the cabin, and Henry insisted he needed to have a say.

Neal pulled Peter aside before they followed the others into the store. "When you get to your parents' house, would you ask Betty how long ago Henry asked her to reserve the cabin?"

Peter frowned. "I thought you called Mom to make the reservation."

"I did, but I'm starting to think that we've been bamboozled. If I'm right, Henry's been working with Betty and Elizabeth to plan a trip up here before the idea ever occurred to me."

"You think he manipulated you into coming here?"

"He'd probably say he anticipated me. I'll work on getting the truth out of him over the next few days. It's possible Angela was an accomplice, and she might give him away. If you look into it while you're in Albany, we can compare notes."

Peter agreed, and then they joined the group inside. Henry was advocating stocking up on hot dogs and marshmallows and cooking all meals over a campfire, but Neal sided with Angela on more healthy options. As long as they promised Henry didn't have to cook, he gave in to most of their preferences with minimal grumbling.

The remaining area of dispute was over the cabbage. "It's St. Patrick's Day," Angela insisted, gesturing toward her green blouse. "We're Irish. It's traditional. It's the least you can do. I mean, look at you. Blue jeans and red sweatshirt. You're not even making an effort. Shameful," she added in an imitation of their grandfather's occasional brogue.

"We're not making the cabin smell like boiled cabbage," Henry said. "If you want green, pick up some of that green beer."

A fan of neither boiled cabbage nor green beer, Neal intervened. "How about a Guinness onion soup to go with our steaks?"

When the cousins agreed to Neal's compromise, they were finally ready to check out. Less than thirty minutes after they left the grocery store, they arrived at the cabin. Neal wasn't the only one surprised to see another vehicle there. "Isn't that Dad's truck?" Peter asked as he parked.

Luke and Betty Burke stepped outside the cabin to hug everyone. "Welcome to the Burke family cabin," Betty said. "We wanted to make sure everything was in order."

"Yeah, and we brought someone who wants to spend the weekend with you," Luke added. "Barclay!" he called. A black Lab ran over with a rope in his mouth. "He's a sucker for anyone who'll play tug-of-war with him."

Neal had met Luke and Betty's Lab over Thanksgiving. He crouched down to greet the dog and then took hold of one end of the rope. Barclay started pulling and Neal's shoes slid across the new grass. "Whoa. Let me get some leverage here." He stood up and braced his feet before tugging again.

Luke patted Neal's back. "You've made a friend for life."

It seemed to Neal it was only a minute later that he gave up and let go of the rope, but when he looked around all of the groceries and luggage had been carried inside. "C'mon, Barclay. We'd better see what they're up to." The interior of the cabin was rustic with modern touches. Polished wood floors, log walls, big windows with spectacular mountain views. Two plaid sofas flanked a massive fireplace, and shelves around the fireplace held games, toys and books. There was also a TV over the mantle, and Henry was reviewing the cabin's collection of DVDs.

"A lot of those movies look new," Peter told Neal in a low voice. "Could be one of my cousins brought them up on a recent visit, but it's possible Henry requested things he wants to watch."

"Or wants me to watch," Neal agreed. "What are they? Spy thrillers?"

"Kids movies. Disney stuff mostly, and some old classic cartoons."

An intriguing clue, but it was still too soon to guess what what Henry was up to. "Where's everyone else?"

"They led Angela upstairs." There were three small bedrooms on a second floor. "Dad's showing off all the features he's added over the years, and El's telling the story of the Halloween prank we played on my brother the last time we brought you up here."

"The reverse Goldilocks con," Neal said with a grin. "That was a good one."

 **Burke** **family cabin, upstate New York. Thursday afternoon. March 17, 2005.**

Betty fixed everyone lunch, but after they'd eaten she and her husband Luke left, with Peter and El following. Neal and Henry showed Angela the highlights outside the cabin, including a picnic table and the hill where they'd gone sledding the first time they'd been here.

From the picnic table they could see a lake, and Angela wanted to walk down the trail that led to the water.

"Good idea. This way," Henry turned and walked back toward the cabin.

"But…" Angela traded looks with Neal. "Why's he going in the opposite direction?"

"C'mon!" Henry yelled at them.

"Let's see," Neal suggested, and they hurried after the oldest cousin to find him tugging at the door of an old shed. Neal remembered that it held sleds and skis and ice skates. None of those were of any use with the early spring that had banished snow weeks ago.

"A little help here?" Henry said, as the warped door seemed stuck in place.

The three of them pulled at the door and when it was open a few feet Henry went inside. "Yeah, I thought I'd seen this last time." He was reaching up toward the ceiling, and Neal realized a rowboat and oars were suspended above them.

Neal reached up to help and soon they had the boat on the ground.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Angela asked. "It looks kind of old."

"The Burkes wouldn't keep it around if it weren't seaworthy." Henry picked up one end, instructed Neal to grab the opposite end and told Angela to bring the oars.

"I thought you'd like this," Neal teased as they walked back to the trail. "Michael's a rower. Show an interest and you can patch things up with him."

Angela looked at him wide-eyed. "M-Michael?" she stammered. "But we're… I mean, we already…"

"Already got over that Las Vegas misunderstanding? Good." Neal gave her his most innocent smile, but he was thinking, _Gotcha_. Yeah, that bit about Michael and Vegas had been an act.

"Keep up!" Henry ordered. "We're wasting daylight." He sped up their pace, making it difficult to talk. They were all panting when they reached the lake.

Neal bided his time. Several minutes into their boat ride he said, "You should have invited Michael along. He could have shown us how to work these oars."

"This is a family vacation," Henry said. "And I know how to row a boat. Winslows are born sailors."

"Okay, but there's no sail on this thing," Angela pointed out. "And it isn't Michael's kind of boat. His scull is more streamlined, like a kayak. Are you sure this isn't leaking?"

"Seems dry to me," Neal assured her.

"Were there life jackets in that shed?" she asked.

"Don't you know how to swim?" Neal asked, concerned that they'd brought her into something she wasn't comfortable with.

"Of course she can," Henry said. "She was right there with us, running around in the ocean in Hawaii."

"That was warm," Angela noted, "and we don't know how deep this lake is."

Neal glanced back at the shore, where Barclay was patiently waiting. The dog was getting smaller as the boat took them away from shore surprisingly fast. "Maybe that's far enough, Henry. You know how to turn this thing around, don't you?"

"I'm not an idiot. I know how to turn around a rowboat. You just -" he leaned over sharply to the side and rowed with just one oar.

"Henry!" Angela shrieked as the boat tipped, taking on water.

"Henry!" Neal yelled a moment later as the boat turned over, and it dumped them in the lake with a resounding splash.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

They righted the boat and helped Angela back aboard, and then Henry and Neal tugged it back to shore. The snow might be gone at their elevation, but the water was still cold. They dashed back to the cabin for warm showers and warm clothes. Angela sat on a sofa in a big flannel shirt she'd found in one of the closets, holding a cup of hot chocolate that Neal had made for them while Henry started a fire. Angela hadn't packed a hair dryer, assuming the cabin would have one. She was towel drying her long, dark hair, and it became increasingly frizzy. She glared at her cousins and told them in no uncertain terms that laughter would not be tolerated.

Soon they were all huddled around the fireplace. Henry sat on the floor, and Barclay rolled over beside him, clearly expecting a belly rub which Henry administered with gusto.

"You have any pets growing up?" Neal asked Angela.

"Not really. Moving from one Air Force base to the next made it difficult to have pets. Goldfish were about it. How about you?"

"Nah." Neal's mother had been increasingly challenged to take care of him. As much as he'd loved dogs, a pet had been out of the question.

"Henry did," Angela said, to Neal's surprise. "A golden retriever named Lulu."

"Mom named her," Henry added.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd had a dog?" Neal wondered aloud.

"I could tell you'd wanted one. Didn't want to make you feel bad by going on about the fact that I had it better than you did."

When they were warmer, they fixed their St. Patrick's dinner of steaks, salad and onion soup. Henry drank one of the Guinness beers, and Neal poured wine for Angela and himself. "This reminds me of a story," Neal said. He adopted an Irish accent and told - with a few slight embellishments - a story he'd heard about the time a family friend had volunteered to babysit all three of them on St. Patrick's Day.

Henry had been five years old at the time of the story. The more he heard, the more he remembered, and he contributed to the embellishments. Angela had been less than a year old, and had never heard the story of how her screams had terrified their babysitter. "You stole a car when you were two?" she asked incredulously.

"Days away from my third birthday," Neal pointed out, "and it was a mistake. I didn't mean to put the car in gear."

They were doing the dishes when the cabin's landline rang. There were no cell towers out here. Their phones were turned off to conserve the batteries, and they'd given the cabin's phone number to anyone who might need to reach them.

Neal answered and grinned when he recognized the voice of the caller. "Angela, it's for you."

She grabbed the phone, "Hello?" When the caller responded she turned her back on the others for a bit of privacy. Her voice lowered, she said, "Hi, Michael," and sounded a little breathless.

"Her boyfriend. And you didn't take advantage of the chance to hassle him?" Henry shook his head at Neal. "Watch and learn. Hey, Michael!" he yelled.

Angela covered the phone. "Hush!"

"Ohhh, Michael," Henry called out, batting his eyelashes, and holding his hand over his heart.

"Cut it out," Angela insisted. "Sorry, not you, Michael. My cousin's being juvenile."

Henry made kissing noises.

"Shut up," Angela said. "Go away."

Neal laughed at them, but twenty minutes later regretted not supporting Angela when the phone rang again and it was his girlfriend, Fiona. Both Henry and Angela were catcalling and generally making it impossible to say or hear more than a few words. When he finally ended the call he rolled his eyes at them. "Really?"

He'd learned his lesson. He set his alarm clock for a ridiculously early hour in the morning. As soon as it sounded he silenced the clock, and then snuck downstairs to make a call. Moving with the stealth of a cat burglar was a skill he'd mastered years ago, and he didn't let any of the creaking stairs give him away.

 **Peter's** **parents' home, Albany, New York. Thursday evening. March 17, 2005.**

Peter half-listened as El described the argument between Henry and Angela in the grocery store, and how Neal had mended things.

"Classic middle child, as my father would say," El said about Neal.

Betty nodded, comparing the scene to ones she'd experienced in her many years as a school teacher. She'd taught fifth grade and was comparing three young adults to ten-year-olds. "Did you want to reserve the cabin?" she suddenly asked.

Peter had been paging through the calendar that was attached to the refrigerator with magnets. This was where Betty logged the requests for the cabin. "Maybe. I should see when I can get some time off."

El raised a brow at that. Peter generally had to be dragged kicking and screaming into taking time off, and he knew she'd quiz him about that later.

For now he returned to the kitchen table and took the beer his father offered him. "What did you think of Henry, Mom?"

"Smart. Maybe too smart for his own good sometimes. He likes to complicate matters, to keep things interesting. Loyal. He'd do anything for his family and friends."

"A lot like Neal," Peter added. He let El pick up that thread as she compared the two young men. After a while he added, "It's fascinating watching them together. Sometimes it's like they can read each other's minds. Did you notice that, Mom? When we were in Hawaii?"

She shook her head. "I can't say I did, but often we were all in such a large group you couldn't observe much of the individuals."

True, but thinking back, Peter remembered times that Henry had pulled Betty into side conversations. He bided his time. The puzzle pieces were slowly coming together, but it was too soon to push for answers yet.

It was early the next morning, when he'd just padded down to the kitchen to make coffee, that his cell phone buzzed. "Neal? How are things in the cabin?"

Neal told him about the adventure on the lake, about dinner and the phone calls.

Peter laughed at the descriptions of the heckling. "That brings back memories. I used to do that as a kid when Joe was dating."

"Whatever Henry's doing, I'm increasingly certain that Angela was in on it. I don't think she's lied to me, other than the part about being on the outs with Michael. I haven't called her on it yet, not directly. When Henry gave us a moment alone I mentioned I had a question for her about this vacation. I timed it so I couldn't actually ask anything. My theory is that she's feeling guilty and will give it all away in a day or so. She's just too basically honest to pull off something like this for long."

"She pulled her weight on the Masterson sting," Peter pointed out.

"Yeah, but she didn't like Masterson, and anyway, she wasn't exactly lying. She was being herself, or a rock star version of herself, under a pseudonym. Listen, I don't have a lot of time before they wake up. Did you learn anything on your end?"

"I looked at the calendar where Mom logs the cabin reservations. She writes them down with whatever's at hand. Any given pen or pencil usually wanders away from the kitchen after a couple of weeks and she'll find another one. I can say with relative certainty that she wrote down your reservation around the start of the year, the same time my cousin always calls to reserve it for Thanksgiving. My working theory is that Henry made the request when were in Hawaii, and she wrote it down as soon as she got home."

"In January. If he was planning that far ahead, imagine how much time he's had to perfect this scheme."

"And complicate it," Peter added, thinking back to what his mother had said the night before. "Remember that Henry likes to complicate things. Simplicity might be your best weapon."

"Like sword through a knot. If I can't unravel things, I may turn to my fencing skills. Thanks, Peter."

Only ten minutes later, his phone vibrated with another call from the cabin. "Forget something?" he asked.

"Yeah. Peter, what we were talking about earlier… I forgot to mention…"

"What?"

"Don't tell anyone else yet, okay?"

"Sure. Just us for now, until we get this figured out," Peter promised, but his gut was warning him something was off. "Before you go, I should have warned you about something. I noticed Barclay wasn't wearing his flea collar. There tend to be a lot of fleas around the cabin this time of year. You said Henry'd spent a lot of time with him yesterday?"

"Umm. Yeah."

"You may want him to give Barclay a flea bath. There should be some powder in the coat closet. And if a lot of that powder gets on Henry, that would be a good thing, if you know what I mean. If you see either of them scratching, look for that powder."

"Right."

"And don't tell him about it. You know how the power of suggestion can be."

"Yeah, I know."

"All right, then. Don't get too caught up in Henry's schemes. You're there to have fun, remember."

"Yeah, sure. Listen, the others are coming downstairs. I need to go."

"Talk to you later," Peter paused and waited until the line went dead, "Henry."

Had it been Henry both times? He and Neal were so practiced at impersonating each other, it could be nearly impossible to tell them apart on the phone.

 **Burke** **family cabin, upstate New York. Friday morning. March 18, 2005.**

Henry told himself that Peter had guessed it was him calling, and this torture was all a mind game. So what if Barclay was scratching his ears? Dogs did that all the time.

But he was so itchy. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He stared at the coat closet, trying to remember if he'd seen the flea powder there when he'd hung up his jacket yesterday. Would they think he was nuts if he insisted on giving the dog a bath?

"Henry, you still with us?" Neal asked as he slid an omelet onto a plate.

Henry was clutching his coffee mug with both hands, so he wouldn't start scratching. "Just give me a minute." He strode over to the coat closet. If he could just find that flea powder and make sure it was there, he could quiet his mind. Coats, boots, hats, mufflers. "Where is it?" he muttered. He didn't see any boxes of anything.

"Need help?" Angela was at his elbow, speaking softly. She thought this was a ruse to give her some directions Neal wouldn't overhear.

He probably should have some instructions for her, but he couldn't think of anything except how much he itched and how much Peter Burke annoyed him right now. Had he lied about that flea powder, or had someone moved it? He almost ran his hands through his hair, but stopped. No spreading fleas to his head. He closed his eyes and tried not to groan. Now his scalp itched. He walked back to the table and started eating his omelet.

"This is fantastic," Angela said to Neal. "You're a great cook."

"Glad you appreciate it," he said.

Henry stopped shoveling the eggs into his mouth and took time to taste his food. "It's pretty good."

"What is it with you this morning?" Neal asked.

Henry sighed. "Barclay isn't wearing a flea collar. Maybe we shouldn't let him outside."

"Of course he's wearing a flea collar."

Henry glanced at Barclay. Nope, that was not the standard white flea collar his dog had always worn. "What, is it invisible or something?"

"No, the flea repellent is in the collar you see. Elizabeth told me about it once. The kennel where they board Satchmo sells them - designer flea collars. She gets them for her sister's dog and for Barclay, too."

Henry started to relax. The itching eased a little. "Good. It would be a shame to lock him inside when he likes romping around with us so much. Tell you what. Finish your breakfast, and when I come back we'll follow one of those trails that lead up the mountainside. I've heard there's a great spot for picnics up there. Angela, you'll pack a lunch for us, right?"

"Sure but where are you going?"

The itching had subsided significantly, but he knew what it would take to completely rid himself of the sensation. "Just gonna grab a quick shower."

As he bounded upstairs he could feel their questioning glances. By the time they got back from their hike they could very well be dirty and sweaty and in need of another shower, but he didn't care.

His plan was still on track, he told himself, even if Peter Burke had won this round of mind games.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Do you have any idea what that was about?" Angela asked Neal.

He shook his head. "None." That had been weird, but at least it gave him time alone with Angela. "Listen, Henry keeps interrupting us before I can ask you something. It's about this vacation. You said you were on my side."

"Yes, I'm so sorry, Neal."

"It's okay. I know what he's like."

"He said we weren't manipulating you. I was supposed to plant some ideas to get you thinking, and then we'd go with whatever you wanted. He said he wasn't doing anything other than smoothing things along." She'd rushed through the confession and paused to take a deep breath. "It all sounded reasonable at the time, but now I think there's more going on."

"If I'm right, Elizabeth is in on it, and maybe Betty, too."

"And June," Angela added.

"She reminded me my birthday was coming up," Neal remembered.

"Until yesterday I thought that was her only involvement, but I made sure to reach him first when we picked him up at baggage claim, in case he had any last minute adjustments to the plan. He was on the phone, and I heard him saying goodbye to June."

"The plan is still in play? What more is there, beyond getting us all where he wants us?"

"He has an agenda he's ticking off in his mind. Activities, foods, I don't know most of it. I'm supposed to follow his lead and help make sure we're all having fun."

"You thought the boat tipping over was fun?"

"God, no." She narrowed her eyes. "Did you think it was fun?"

Even though he hadn't enjoyed it at the time, it was kinda funny looking back on it now. Peter had certainly chuckled over the story earlier this morning.

"You _do_ ," she accused.

"Your scream could probably be heard in the next county."

Angela walked over to the sofa and picked up a pillow. "Say that again. I dare you."

The pillow fight that ensued was still going on when Henry returned. He joined in, with Barclay barking joyously.

 **Peter's** **parents' home, Albany, New York. Saturday afternoon. March 19, 2005.**

With only one phone in the cabin, located in the open concept first floor, it was no surprise that Neal didn't find the privacy to call back until Saturday afternoon. He filled Peter in on what they'd been doing.

Before Peter responded, he had to ask, "Neal, do you remember the name of the bar in St. Louis? The one where we had the meet with that crew of thieves?"

"Yeah, Shirts and Skins. Why?"

"And the leader of that crew was named…?"

"Roland Villiers. Peter, it's not like you to forget…" It didn't take Neal long to catch up. "Worried that I'm Henry?"

"We've gotta come up with a code phrase so I can be sure who I'm talking to. How many times did you call me yesterday?"

"Once. How many times did you think I called?"

"I was pretty sure it was Henry the second time. He probably hit redial to find out who you'd called and then tried to fake it. Did my story about Barclay having fleas get into his head?"

"Oh. That explains what was up with him. Yeah. I gotta hand it to you. That was a simple, but brilliant move."

"Like I told you, simple can be powerful." Peter had gone out to the back porch to take the call. Elizabeth and Betty had gone shopping, and Luke had been watching a basketball game on TV. Now Luke opened the sliding door and sat on a chair next to Peter. The game must be over.

"Anyway, it's clear that Henry conspired to take charge of this vacation, getting me here and arranging activities, but I can't figure out his end goal. Like Angela said, he has an agenda he's ticking off, but I don't know why. And he's taking photos like crazy. Says he's going to add them to the album you all gave me at Christmas."

Peter chuckled. "I'm surprised the camera survived the dunking in the lake."

Neal drew a sharp breath. "He didn't bring it to the lake. It's the only time he hasn't had it with him. Do you think he overturned the boat on purpose?"

"You weren't exaggerating, the rowboat really flipped completely over?"

"Upside down, yeah. Dumped all three of us in the lake."

At the comment about the rowboat flipping over, Luke stopped watching the birds flocking to the feeders and turned his attention to Peter, who nodded at his father and said to Neal, "That's about as stable a rowboat as you can get. I flipped it over once, when my brother was driving me nuts, and I had to put a lot of effort into it. It's hard to believe someone as knowledgeable about boats as Henry would flip it accidentally."

When the call was over, Luke said, "What's going on up at the cabin?"

If this had been a case at the FBI, by now Peter would want to talk it through with someone in the office. It wouldn't hurt to get a second opinion now. He didn't share his theories about what Henry was up to or why. He simply described what the cousins had been doing since arriving at the cabin.

Luke listened quietly for the most part. When Peter mentioned the board games the cousins had played Thursday and Friday night, he commented, "Those were your favorites."

Peter nodded in acknowledgement. He'd enjoyed those games as a kid. That's why they were always stocked in the cabin. They'd replaced the games many times over the years as pieces wore out or got lost. The boxes had looked new again on Thursday. "This morning they watched cartoons." He listed the ones Neal had mentioned.

"Saturday morning cartoons," Luke said. "Those were the ones you always watched. Every Saturday you were down in the basement, watching _Speed Racer_ and those others."

"Yeah, those are good memories."

"I could tell. I looked out the window when I went to the kitchen for coffee, and you were smiling as you listened to Neal telling you about it."

Finally it clicked. Peter thought he knew what Henry was trying to achieve, even if he didn't know why.

"Betty's in on it," Luke commented. "She's had a lot of phone calls with Henry these last couple of months. I figure she's the one who told him what your favorites were."

"Did you take those games and DVDs up to the cabin with you on Thursday?"

"Yep. Betty ordered them online a month ago, at least."

"And Henry asked you to leave Barclay at the cabin?"

Luke nodded. "He wanted a dog there, and you didn't have space in your car to bring Satchmo along."

It didn't take long to confirm his theory once the girls got home. Peter said he needed to run something by them, and they sat in the breakfast room while he laid out what he'd discovered. When he reached the end he said, "Mom, why is Henry taking his cousins through a greatest hits of my childhood?"

Betty smiled. "If you were to ask Henry, he'd say it's complicated."

"Trademark Henry response."

"Yes, well I've been talking to him a lot." Betty laid a hand over his. "You always had Joe. It would be hard for you to imagine what it's like to be an only child."

"All three of them are only children," Peter said. "Well, at least that's how they were raised." Of course it was more complicated than that, but Betty was right. Each of them had been raised alone.

"It wasn't so hard for Henry and Angela. They had each other and bunches of cousins on their non-Caffrey sides of their families, but Neal…" She stopped short of mentioning WITSEC and how that had isolated Neal. "Well, his childhood was far from what it should have been."

She didn't know half of it, and it wasn't Peter's secret to share, so he stayed focused on the present. "I get it. Henry wants all of them, Neal especially, to relive the childhood they should have had. But why use my childhood as his model? Was that your idea?"

"No, Peter. Don't you see? What seems boring and ordinary to us, it looks magical to Neal. Your life is an ideal for him, a picket fence fantasy. If you asked him what he thinks childhood should be like, he'd say yours."

Elizabeth nodded. "And Henry knows you're like a father to Neal, but you lack the usual shared experiences of a father and son. This way, you have more in common."

"Why keep it secret, though?" Luke asked. "Seems to me Peter is the expert on his own childhood. Why not ask him about it when Henry planned all this?"

"I'd disagree with you there," Betty said. "Kids forget a lot, and aren't very objective. I'd say their parents are the experts on their childhood."

"I see your point," said Peter, "but Dad's right, too. Why keep me in the dark? That was intentional, right? He told each of you not to tell me what he had planned."

Both Betty and Elizabeth indicated he was right. El added, "He mentioned that you see each other at work every day and Neal might notice if you were hiding something from him."

"Possible," Peter said.

"You still think there's something more," El said.

"Yeah. It's never that simple. Not with Henry."

 **Burke** **family cabin, upstate New York. Saturday evening. March 19, 2005.**

In the evening the cousins built a campfire and did some stargazing. "That's Perseus," Neal said. He shrugged at Angela. "Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Bootes and Perseus. That's the extent of my expertise with constellations. Those are the ones Peter pointed out last time we were here. He's the expert."

Angela pointed out a few more she recognized, and Henry opened a bag of marshmallows to start roasting.

Neal's mind kept going back to the fact that Peter was the expert on stargazing. How many times had Peter come to mind while they were doing stuff on Henry's agenda? When they played _Clue_ , Neal had guessed that had probably been a game Peter loved. And those cartoons. _Speed Racer_ made him think of Peter's propensity for driving too fast.

Was it a coincidence? Naturally the Burke family cabin would be filled with reminders of Peter and all the other Burkes who had spent so much time here over the decades. There weren't a lot of coincidences, though, not when Henry planned things. He'd have considered the implications of being here and doing these things. It was like the goal was for Neal to have more in common with Peter.

"I know why we're here," Neal said.

"Is this a theological insight?" Henry asked.

"No, it's a Henry psychological mind-game insight. You brought us here to relive moments of Peter's childhood."

Henry shrugged. "You like coming here because it makes you feel like a member of the Burke family. I'm just facilitating that. Over Christmas, Betty told me about some of their family trips to the cabin, and that provided me with plenty of activities to choose from."

Angela sat back and stared at Henry. "It's that simple? It's never that simple with you. There has to be more."

"She's right. If that's all you were up to, why not tell us from the beginning? There's no need to keep that a secret."

"No?" Henry prompted. "Tell me, now that you've figured it out, how do you feel?"

Neal and Angela glanced at each other.

"Feeling clever, right? You figured it out on your own, no help from me." Henry blew on a perfectly roasted marshmallow to cool it, then popped it in his mouth.

"No help from you," Neal concurred, "but not alone. Angela helped."

"Nice bit of bonding there, with the two of you trying to figure out what your wiser older cousin was up to."

"I wouldn't say wiser, old man," Angela objected.

Ignoring her, Henry added, "And Peter helped. He's running a parallel investigation in Albany, of course. What could be more fun than that?"

"Solving a mystery with Peter," Neal said. "That's what you wanted me to do."

"That's your birthday gift to Neal, isn't it?" Angela asked. "A mystery. Clues. Suspects who'd been seen conferring with you. That's kind of brilliant."

Henry smiled proudly.

"I mean, it's still annoying as hell," Angela continued. "The way you manipulated us all. Making us keep secrets from Neal."

"But in the end you had fun," Henry said. "The hikes, the picnics, the games and cartoons. You loved every minute of it."

"I'd have loved it even more if I didn't have the guilt of hiding things from Neal."

"And the rowboat," Neal added. "Don't forget that. Peter figured out you tipped it on purpose, because it had taken a lot of effort to tip it when he wanted to dunk his brother."

"You did that on purpose?" Angela asked.

"You have no proof of that," Henry protested. "That's pure conjecture."

"Anyway, Peter already got in a little revenge for us." Neal explained about psyching Henry into thinking he had fleas.

Angela stopped glowering at Henry and was giggling by the time Neal finished the story and Henry complained about what he'd endured. She started roasting a marshmallow and said, "I guess I'll forgive you. Let's start over. No more agendas or copying what others have done here. We're three cousins roasting marshmallows over the fire." She smiled. In the flickering light of the fire her expression looked slightly evil. "Time for ghost stories."

"No!" said Henry. "No way."

"Why not?" asked Neal.

Now Angela looked smug. "Ghost stories freak him out. Once our parents took us on a camping trip together. The ghost stories started, and he got more uncomfortable by the minute."

"Then I told a ghost story that scared you silly," Henry countered. "By the end you were hiding behind your dad."

"I loved every minute of it. You're the one who had nightmares."

"That must have been quite a story," Neal said. "Do you remember any of it?"

"No!" Henry said again.

"It's been so long." Angela thought back. "It was about a boy who lived in a haunted house. Only he didn't know it was haunted. He kept seeing a younger boy who knew his way around and acted like he lived there, but of course that couldn't be. At first he thought it was a real kid messing with him. Then he realized no one else could see this visitor, and thought it was an imaginary friend. But one day he described this friend to his mom and she started crying and said he was dead…" She trailed off, looking up at Henry with wide eyes. "Oh, I never realized."

"The ghost was me?" Neal asked.

Henry took a deep breath. "After the Marshals took you and your mom away, we were supposed to forget about you. I was young enough, they probably assumed I'd forget if they just stopped talking about you. But sometimes I'd have these dreams, or even walking around the house something would trigger a memory of your last visit. I was certain they were real memories, and not my imagination, but it was weird that no one else seemed to remember you. One time when I told Mom about those memories, she cried. I had started thinking you had to be a ghost. I spun this theory that I'd had a baby brother who died in a tragic accident that was so horrific no one would talk about it. When I figured out you were alive in WITSEC, it was a huge relief. You weren't dead, and I wasn't crazy for remembering you."

Neal thought back to a comment Henry had made when he'd broken his arm last year and the painkillers had kicked in. "You said I'd haunted you. I didn't realize you meant… you know…"

Angela cleared her throat. "I propose a new family tradition. No ghost stories. When we roast marshmallows around a campfire, we will tell vampire stories. I'll start with one of my childhood favorites: _Bunnicula_."

 _A_ _/N: The next chapter will be posted in a few weeks, and will feature Neal's actual birthday and the team building event with Winston-Winslow. My thanks to marvelous beta reader Silbrith for her support and suggestions as I finally kicked off these vignettes. Look for the first chapter in her next story to be posted about a week from now. It's titled Arkham Files: Visions from Beyond._

 _See my profile here and "The Penna Nomen and Silbrith Conversation" blog for more about the CC AU._

 _See the Caffrey Conversation AU Pinterest board for pictures of the characters, and the Caffrey Vignettes board for pins specific to these chapters._

 _If you want backstory for this AU, below I've provided basic info about the characters and the stories that are referenced in Spring Break._

 **Characters** :

Neal Caffrey in this AU is about to turn twenty-six. He went into WITSEC at the age of three, and within a few years his mother started drinking and dating an abusive boyfriend. The boyfriend got revenge when she broke up with him by abducting nine-year-old Neal. The abductor shot a friendly stranger who tried to intervene, leading to Neal's abhorrence of guns. In the fall of 2004, Neal enrolled in Columbia where he is getting a dual master's degree in Visual Arts and Art History.

Peter Burke in this AU is thirteen years older than Neal. He was named the leader of the Manhattan White Collar task force in December, 2003. In that same month he went to St. Louis for an undercover op, where he encountered Neal. Their conversation in St. Louis led to Peter recruiting Neal into the FBI as a consultant.

Elizabeth Burke in this AU is the wife and event planner we know from canon, but it's several stories into the AU before she starts her business.

June Ellington is Neal's landlady, as she was in canon. In this AU we were able to meet her husband Byron before he died.

Angela Caffrey is Neal's younger cousin. She took a semester off from college when her father died, but finished her undergraduate degree at the University of Washington at the end of 2004 and then moved to NYC to get a PhD in ethnomusicology at Columbia. She loves organizing things, and works part time as a bookkeeper for the Aloha Emporium, which is owned by a friend of Mozzie's.

Henry Winslow is Neal's older cousin. He works as an investigator at Winston-Winslow (Win-Win), has a circuitous mind, and is pretty good at imitating Neal. He majored in psychology, but dropped out of college for a while; it's during that break he found runaway Neal and they hit the road.

Luke and Betty Burke are Peter's parents. Luke worked in construction, and Betty was a schoolteacher.

Joe Burke is Peter's older brother. He's about ten years older than Peter, and at the end of 2004 he married Henry Winslow's mother: Noelle.

 **Stories** :

Peter recruited Neal into the FBI in the first story of this series, titled "Caffrey Conversation" (it's the name of the first story and also the name of this AU). When Peter asks Neal to name the bar and villain from St. Louis, those are references back to this initial story.

Neal's initial firearm certification takes place in the story "By the Book" after he takes away a character's gun in an op on New Year's Eve.

Neal's flashbacks to his abduction start in "Caffrey Conversation" and continue in "Choirboy Caffrey" and "By the Book." He remembers the whole experience in "Caffrey Flashback."

When Neal is overwhelmed by the flood of memories in "Caffrey Flashback," Peter takes Neal, Henry, Noelle and Elizabeth up to the Burke family cabin. That's the first use of the cabin in our AU, and that's when Neal and Henry go sledding. Several characters return to the cabin for Halloween in "The Woman in Blue" by Silbrith. At that time, Peter shows Neal the constellations named in this story, and Peter, Neal and El play a trick on Joe and Noelle by convincing them there is a bear in the cabin.

Henry was mentioned in the first stories but doesn't make an appearance until "By the Book." That's the story in which he breaks his arm and says he was haunted by Neal. His ability to impersonate Neal is featured in "Caffrey Flashback" and "Caffrey Disclosure."

Angela first appears as an adult in "Caffrey Flashback," and has a role in several subsequent stories, particularly "Caffrey Disclosure."

Neal, Henry and Angela are featured as children in the short story "Caffrey Envoy." That story includes the full account of them terrorizing their babysitter on St. Patrick's Day, including Neal's first car theft.

Neal, Henry and Angela posed as rock group Urban Legend in a sting against the founder of Masterson Music. Urban Legend is mentioned in earlier stories, but the sting is featured in "Caffrey Disclosure."

Neal took the entrance exams for Columbia in the short story "Complications" by Silbrith.

Neal started dating Fiona in "The Woman in Blue," the same story in which Michael is introduced. Michael starts dating Angela in "The Dreamer" by Silbrith.

Luke and Betty first appear for Thanksgiving with Barclay in "The Queen's Jewels" by Silbrith. They return for Christmas and the Joe-Noelle wedding in "Caffrey Aloha."

The photo album the others gave Neal was a gift in "Caffrey Aloha."

The stressful op involving Keller that occurred shortly before this story opens is featured in the story "The Mirror" by Silbrith.

The question of whether Neal is an only child or has a sibling is quite complicated; Neal learns the truth at the end of Caffrey Disclosure, and he shares that info with rest of his family in "Caffrey Aloha."


	2. Chapter 2 - Casual Day

_A/N: This chapter is set in March, 2005, immediately after the "Spring Break" chapter. Returning from a long weekend in upstate New York, Neal experiences a rare casual day at the FBI on his birthday. Before he can enjoy a team building event and birthday dinner with his extended family, he has a morning of meetings where it seems his best friend is hiding something. Neal and Peter can't resist unraveling Henry's secret._

 _I'm not an expert at laser tag, so please excuse the things I made up for the purposes of entertainment._

 _I try to make each vignette friendly for new readers to the AU. In the end notes, you'll find background about the characters and references to other stories in the AU in case you want to visit (or revisit) those older scenes._

 **Fiona's apartment, New York City. Monday morning, March 21, 2005.**

The alarm clock buzzed and for a rare moment Neal Caffrey wished he was a kid again. Back then his mom had let him sleep in and skip school on his birthday.

Fiona stirred, then reached for the clock on the nightstand. As Neal appreciated the view, he had to admit there were definite advantages to being an adult. Fiona smiled at him, and his return grin was interrupted by a beep from his phone. It beeped again as he reached for it, and he saw three text messages:

 _Happy Birthday, kiddo._

 _Breakfast in 15 minutes._

 _Pls be dressed._

Neal jumped out of bed and ran for his duffle bag. He'd packed one of his vintage suits so he could go directly to work from Fiona's. "We're about to be invaded," he warned.

His girlfriend and fellow student in Columbia's graduate art program laughed as she reached for a robe. "It's not my fellow Brits hoping to retake the colonies, is it?"

"Not that type of invasion." He kept a toothbrush and razor in her bathroom, so all he grabbed now was clothing.

Fiona followed as he dashed toward the bathroom. "You're annoyed, rather than worried. Is it someone from the FBI?"

After the ordeal with Keller recently, he should have been more clear. "More annoying than work. It's Henry."

"Your cousin?" Fiona had met Henry Winslow on his last visit to New York. "I thought you liked him."

Neal turned on the shower, and as he waited for the water to get hot explained, "Normally, yeah. But we spent the last four days trying to outsmart each other at the Burke family cabin. I thought he'd give me a break today, but no such luck. He's a firm believer in starting birthdays with a big breakfast."

Fiona glanced toward her kitchen in dismay. Cooking wasn't her strength. "Most mornings I make do with a cup of tea," she reminded him.

"Don't worry about the food. He'll bring it with him." Neal sped through his shower and wondered what other surprises Henry would have in mind today. He couldn't do much, right? After all, it was Monday. They both had to work. They were adults now. Professionals.

As soon as he stepped out of the shower, Fiona stepped in. Although the apartment was charming, a downside was how long it took to get hot water. They'd learned it was best to keep the shower running once it finally reached the right temperature. When the doorbell rang, Fiona was drying her hair and Neal was buttoning his shirt. He opened the door, but remained standing in the doorway, arms crossed. "Did you consider we might want privacy this morning?"

Henry pushed past Neal, arms filled with canvas bags. "Nah." He set most of the bags on Fiona's tiny dining table and started pulling out containers of food. "Courtesy of June's chef."

"They didn't have to do that," Neal protested. "We could have gone out for breakfast. There are plenty of places to choose from."

"Speak for yourself," Henry said as he grabbed a still-warm croissant and smeared it with honey. "No restaurant can beat this spread. Good morning," he added to Fiona as she joined them.

They all sat down to eat, and Neal contributed an absent-minded comment occasionally as Henry pelted Fiona with questions. Of course Henry took care that it didn't come across as an interrogation. Fiona would assume he was merely expressing an interest in her life. But with a master's degree in psychology, Henry was an expert at getting into your head and learning more about you than you would have imagined possible. It was actually a lot like the way a con artist operated.

Neal understood that Henry was acting the role he'd adopted years ago - that of protective older brother - even if he did seem particularly intense this morning. While his actions might make sense, his appearance didn't. He'd always worn a suit when visiting the White Collar team's offices in the Federal Building, and that's where they would go after breakfast. Why was Henry in jeans and a red polo-style shirt?

"Is it a casual day or something?" Neal interjected when Henry paused to bite into a Danish.

"Yeah," Henry confirmed. "This afternoon's team building event isn't conducive to wearing suits. Since Peter and I were keeping it a surprise, I figured I'd need to bring along something more appropriate for you, too. You'll find it over there." He indicated one of the canvas bags he'd carried in with him.

Fiona asked, "What else do you have planned for Neal's birthday?"

Well, that was a novel approach. Simply ask Henry his plans? No way would he give a straight answer.

Sure enough, Henry deflected. He rolled his eyes and said, "It's gonna be meetings all morning, with updates on a case and strategizing next steps."

"Stop whining," Neal said. "You love strategizing."

"It does happen to be a strength of mine. As opposed to Neal here, who acts entirely on impulse."

Neal considered going with impulse and shoving him, but decided to be gracious in light of the gourmet breakfast. As much as he enjoyed spending the night with Fiona, breakfasts at her apartment were normally not a highlight. "I have good instincts," he said calmly. Hey, he was twenty-six today. He could be grown up.

"I had hopes that after the meetings we could go someplace exotic for lunch," Henry said, returning to Fiona's question. "I mean, Manhattan, right? So many options for excellent food. But based on what I saw of the agenda, I wouldn't be surprised if we end up calling out for pizza."

"I've never quite grasped the appeal of pizza," Fiona admitted, sounding particularly British.

"Then Neal has been a very negligent boyfriend. Next time I'm in town, I'll take you to a place I discovered in Little Italy."

This time Neal was the one rolling his eyes. "Between work and classes, Fiona and I don't get many evenings free to spend together, and she's leaving soon for a temporary assignment in Paris. What makes you think I'm bringing you along on a date?"

"Oh, did you think you were invited?" Henry responded. "How about we make a bet? This afternoon I'm going along for your firearm certification test. We'll see who's the best. If you beat me, you can come along. If I win, we leave you behind and talk about you over New York's best pizza."

Neal had never seen Henry shoot. It was safe to assume he was good at it. Henry's father wouldn't have tolerated anything less than perfection, but Neal was a crack shot himself. He was about to agree to the bet when he noticed Fiona's expression. She was getting better at accepting the dangerous aspects of Neal's job, but talk of guns and shooting still made her uneasy. He gestured toward Henry's shirt. "What made you think you could raid my closet?" he asked in an attempt to change the subject.

Henry looked affronted. "It's my shirt. I've been looking for it since July. How did it end up in your closet?"

This was would get a smile out of Fiona if he told it right. "Last summer when you fell off the radar, Sara Ellis helped me sneak me into your office on a weekend to look for clues of what you were up to. We started by visiting your apartment so I could dress like you and fool the office security guard. Sara took it a step further than I intended. When I started styling my hair like yours she volunteered to help. I thought she was just applying a gel, but it was actually a temporary hair dye that gave me highlights in a color closer to yours. I nearly panicked when I realized what she'd done. I was half afraid my hair would turn green and fall out." He smiled. "I'd seen too many sitcoms with that scenario as a kid."

Fiona laughed as intended, but then looked from Neal to Henry and back again. "Did you actually fool the security guard into thinking you were Henry?"

"Piece of cake," Neal said. "I walked in like I owned the place, and kept my face averted most of the time. Sara and I were busy pretending to flirt, so I barely spared a glance for the guard."

She studied them both again and frowned. "You don't look alike. You're about the same build, but…" She shook her head in disbelief that they could ever be mistaken for each other.

"Well, at the time Henry's hair was longer," Neal said.

"In our younger days we made a game of impersonating each other. We can copy each other's walk and expressions and voices," Henry added.

"Why?" Fiona asked. "Is this another American tradition no one told me about?"

"Not exactly," Neal said. "Remind me someday to tell you about the Masterson Music case. Then it'll make more sense." It was a long story, and they needed to head to the office soon. "I guess I should change." He picked up the bag of clothing Henry had brought and carried it into the bedroom. A pair of jeans were folded on top of a crimson polo shirt, similar to the one Henry was wearing. _Definitely a theme here_ , Neal noted. Was the implication that Neal was supposed to follow Henry's lead, or was Henry wanting to imitate Neal this time?

Neal returned to the dining room, carrying the running shoes that had been at the bottom of the bag. He sat down to put them on.

"Oh, that reminds me." Fiona stood and hurried to the closet, where she pulled out a gift bag. Handing it to Neal she said, "Happy Birthday!"

Opening the bag, he pulled out a pair of blue socks with a birthday cake printed on them. Fiona had become aware of the concept of novelty socks over Thanksgiving and now they were her go-to gift. He stood to hug her and said, "I'll make sure Henry doesn't steal them, but it won't be easy. In fact…" he sat down to pull off his plain brown socks and replaced them with the ones from Fiona. "That should do the trick."

Her smile lit the room. "You look every inch the birthday boy, now. What a happy coincidence that it's a casual day for you. I must say, however, I'm still confused about something. What is _team building_ , and why does it require you to dress differently than you normally do?"

Neal was curious about that, too. He'd heard the term before, but when Jones and others mentioned team building events it usually referred to something like going out for drinks or meeting for a movie after work.

Henry explained the concept of a group of co-workers trying an activity they didn't normally do in order to learn more about each other and to build bonds. However, he declined at first to share what today's event would be.

"C'mon," Neal insisted. "You want to be the one to tell me, right? You can do that now, or I'll get it out of someone else as soon as we reach the office."

Henry pondered that, and then nodded in acquiescence. "Good point. We're going to play laser tag."

Neal grinned in anticipation. Last year after his firearm certification test, he'd noticed the laser tag facility and had tried to talk Peter into playing. There hadn't been time, and then Neal had forgotten about it. "Have you ever played?" He wondered if Henry had been practicing, planning to trounce him.

"No, but it's essentially hide-and-seek with lasers, right? We're gonna wipe the floor with everyone else." He shrugged and started gathering up their empty plates. "I left the details up to our respective bosses. They like being in charge. Anyway, it'll be more fun if there's an element of surprise in it for us, right?" He'd been standing at the sink but turned around and grinned.

"Oh, I see it!" Fiona exclaimed. She beamed at them. "I hadn't believed anyone could mistake you for each other, but I see it now. It's that smile, and that mischievous look in your eyes. It really is identical."

"Yeah," Neal agreed. "For an instant he looks almost as good as me."

"Still in denial that I'm older, wiser and better looking." Henry looked pointedly at his watch. "C'mon, kiddo. Time to get to work."

 **Henry's rental car. Monday morning, March 21, 2005.**

Over the last four days, Neal and Peter had been chasing after a mystery of Henry's invention. That had been a birthday present to Neal — a mystery to solve while vacationing at the Burke family cabin. Now he presented another riddle, but Neal suspected this one wasn't a game. Henry was working to present a facade of birthday lightheartedness, meaning that he was hiding something else.

A few years ago Neal had read several of Henry's psychology textbooks. It had been enlightening for an up-and-coming con artist. There was a section about how people took on different traits at home versus at work. Neal assumed that he'd already seen Henry's work personality. After all, Henry had collaborated with the FBI before. But now Neal wondered if he had ever really experienced what Henry was like at Winston-Winslow, where he had the weight of a family legacy to contend with. Today could bring new insights as a whole contingent of Win-Win representatives descended on the FBI.

Neal put on his seatbelt and said, "I appreciate that you were trying to be subtle this morning with your questions, but you don't have to grill Fiona like she's a suspect in a case, you know."

"Just being thorough," Henry responded as he started his rental car. "You did run a background check on her, right?"

"No," Neal said. "And I'm not going to. First of all, the FBI frowns on using their resources for personal reasons, and secondly she's not a criminal."

"The Win-Win databases didn't have anything suspicious on her, but I like to follow up in person when I can."

Henry reached forward to turn on the radio, but Neal pushed his hand away. This discussion was far from over. "You ran a profile on my girlfriend?"

"Well, yeah. I was checking out Michael after I met him on my last visit, so I thought I might as well run Fiona through a background check, too."

"Does Angela know you're checking out her boyfriend?" Neal was certain their younger cousin wouldn't be happy to hear that.

Henry's expression hardened. "After what I found about her last boyfriend, she should be grateful. Anyway, Michael seems clean, but I'll find time to talk to him more, to be safe."

There was definitely something up with Henry. He sounded stressed, but Neal didn't mention that he'd noticed. Not yet. "Okay. I get you want to keep an eye out for us, but don't go overboard."

"If I'd known Fiona was leaving, I wouldn't have been so worried."

"It's just for three months. Probably." Neal tried to sound upbeat, but he knew the allure of Paris. He wouldn't blame her if she agreed to extend her stay there, if her employer offered the chance.

"And that's why you decided to spend the night at her apartment, getting in a little more time together. I wondered why you abandoned me at your loft."

"Yeah, I wanted time with Fiona. But there's also the fact that you invited yourself over. You didn't ask if I wanted a houseguest for a couple of nights." Not wanting to argue, Neal turned on the radio, scanning through the stations until he found one he liked. Soon they were singing along to "Name" by the Goo Goo Dolls.

Even as he harmonized on the song, Neal made plans to talk to Peter about his concerns. If Henry was worried about something and thought he had to hide it from Neal — after their recent agreement to stop keeping each other in the dark — it had to be serious.

 **Federal Building, Manhattan. Monday morning, March 21, 2005.**

As soon as Neal arrived in the office, he caught Peter Burke's eye and gestured toward Henry. Both young men looked worried, and that had Peter's gut churning. He always trusted his gut, but there wasn't time for Neal to fill him in. Hughes was already calling them up to the conference room.

Peter believed he was a decent manager, but after a year in the role he had to admit he still had plenty to learn. The touchy-feely aspects of management weren't his strong suit. When his boss told him a few weeks ago that they needed a team-building event with the visitors currently sitting in the conference room, he'd been underwhelmed at the idea. Who had time for team building? Why not just tell everyone they needed to get along?

But now as he stood at the front of the conference room and looked at his audience, he had to admit they certainly didn't look even slightly unified. All the participants from the FBI were seated on one side of the conference table, staring at the representatives from Winston-Winslow. The folks from Win-Win were staring right back from the opposite side. Win-Win had a culture of distrusting and demeaning the FBI, and likewise FBI agents weren't big fans of private investigators.

Apparently collaborating over the phone and via email had not melded this group into a high-functioning team. Maybe the game of laser tag planned for this afternoon really would serve as more than an excuse to goof off on Neal's birthday.

Peter called the meeting to order and after introductions he explained the need to iron out a more formal contract between the FBI and Win-Win. Graham Winslow rolled his eyes. It was only a matter of time before he said something disparaging about the bureaucracy of government agencies. Peter decided to put him on the spot. "I realize Win-Win has a history of avoiding government contracts. My boss and I learned about your exploits when we went through our training at Quantico, but I understand you're not part of the curriculum anymore. Graham, would you fill my younger team members in on your company's history?"

As Peter took a seat, Graham gave him a wry smile that indicated he knew he was being called on to speak before he could start heckling. The oldest person in the room, he was officially retired but remained an active member of the board of directors. "My father was one of the founders of Win-Win, and before that he was an FBI agent who got fired for making a nuisance of himself. He kept pushing the Bureau to adopt more modern methods, like psychological profiles. He believed that psychology could be applied not only to suspects, but also to victims and witnesses. Around the same time, another agent quit. Martin Winston was a proponent of using more computer-based tools in solving cases, but he walked when he couldn't get the budget. Both of them had worked in the D.C. offices and knew each other casually. They met for drinks to commiserate, and ended up deciding to pool their ideas and resources to open an elite private investigation and security company in Baltimore. Without government restrictions, they were free to work any way they wanted." His eyes twinkled. "And what they wanted was to do things that would shock their former bosses. They took big risks, and it paid off." His expression sobered. "Eventually we took things too far, and that contributed to my son's death. It's time we adjust our attitude. Neal, can I pass the baton to you? Several of the Win-Win team members here don't know how you roped Henry into some of your cases last year."

Neal looked surprised, but he had the confidence and humor to follow Graham's lead. "All of you know Henry's my cousin on his mother's side, right?" People nodded and Neal continued, "In January of last year, just a few weeks after I started working for Peter, I took a quick trip to the emergency room after a minor mishap on case. Henry got wind of it and decided to visit. You know Henry," he said to the Win-Win side of the room. "Didn't matter how many times I told him I was fine. He wasn't going to be satisfied until he saw for himself." That brought smiles from Henry's colleagues. "Well, it wasn't enough to see that I was healthy. He thought he should also check out my new boss and make sure the FBI was treating me well. Using his psychological mind games, he invited himself along to the office and wound up joining us in taking down some criminals. It all went like clockwork until after the arrests."

Peter gave him a stern look. The case had _not_ gone like clockwork that day. Far from it. Unless Neal was referring to a cuckoo clock.

Neal ignored the look. "As we were leaving the crime scene, Henry slipped on a patch of ice and broke his arm, and then it was his turn for a trip to the hospital."

 _Smart_ , Peter thought, to address that incident. Henry had been concerned at the time that Win-Win would blame the FBI for his injury. Most of these people had probably seen Henry in a cast when he'd returned to Baltimore. Making them laugh about it now reduced the resentment about the company's golden boy being hurt on his first collaboration with the FBI.

"I waited until the cast was removed," Neal continued, "and then invited him back for an encore. Usually for surveillance we set up in a fake municipal van, but that wasn't going to work for the location we needed to monitor. It was an estate on the edge of Long Island, and what we needed was a boat. I knew Henry had access to a sailboat. Little did I know that he'd invite his grandfather along to help us with the case."

"It was my boat," Graham pointed out.

"I assumed Henry would hot-wire it, or whatever you do to take a sailboat. It never occurred to me that he'd actually ask the owner's permission. I mean, we're talking about Henry."

Neal was obviously goading his cousin, who finally spoke up. "Thanks so much for that endorsement of my character," Henry said. "Pops and I had no idea when we were sailing up here that the case involved a lead on Vincent Adler. Talk about a big prize. It didn't pan out then, but we've made progress. We have new leads, and new tools." Henry was referring to the revolutionary new facial recognition software Win-Win had developed, and which the White Collar team would soon start using.

Peter's boss raised a hand. "If I might interject here," said Reese Hughes in his usual dry tones.

"Take it away," said Henry. He looked grateful not to be the center of attention, which seemed out of character. Peter glanced at Neal, who simply shrugged.

Hughes walked to the front of the room. "Both of our organizations hit low points in the last year. On the Win-Win side, you had Robert Winslow bribing FBI agents. On our side, we uncovered two agents who seem to have been in Vincent Adler's pocket."

With everyone's attention on Hughes, Peter took a chance at tapping out a message on the table in Morse code, knowing Neal would understand: _What is up with H?_

Meanwhile Hughes continued, "Everyone in this room is aware of the need to keep all discussions about the Adler case limited to this group, and not to send any information about the case in unencrypted email."

Neal responded: _Stressed. Hiding it._

Hughes added, "While we believe Adler has no more accomplices in the Bureau, we can't be certain. He may have other resources we aren't aware of. I'm going to err on the side of caution until we arrest him."

"As will we," added Allen Winston, the CEO of Win-Win. He joined Hughes at the front of the room, and explained that he had found a group of Adler's victims willing to pay for Win-Win's services. These clients wanted to find the money Adler had stolen from them. That meant finding Adler. "We're going to collaborate with the Bureau to bring Mr. Adler to justice." He paused. "When I say collaborate, I mean working the case together as a team. Recently, Radha warned me that we aren't achieving that. Radha, would you explain?"

The young man who had introduced himself as Radha Prasad leaned forward in his chair. "At Winston-Winslow, we have many brilliant people - strong individuals with strong personalities — and they often prefer to work alone when we first hire them. The challenge is to build trust and to appreciate what each person brings. I believe those of us from Win-Win have learned to function as a team." But he cast a quick, uncertain glance toward his side of the table, and Peter wondered who Radha was looking at. Henry? Or the woman sitting beside him? "From what I have observed, those from the White Collar team work together well, also. But we are currently two separate teams with sporadic, sometimes reluctant, interactions." He nodded to a woman on the opposite side of the table. "I have spoken with your behavioral analyst about this. Agent Wiese?"

Tricia returned his nod and said, "I've noted that Adler keeps his accomplices compartmentalized. Thus he ensures that nothing significant can happen without him, as no one else knows his full plan. It means that if we capture a single member of his team, we'll learn only a small part of what he's doing. It also means he doesn't get the full benefit and synergies of a true team. That's where we can beat him. If we bring our two unique groups together to act as a single unit when we're working on this case, we will out-think him."

"Thank you, everyone, for summarizing why we're here and what we hope to accomplish today. I appreciate that both sides provided input, and I hope by the end of this day we'll all feel and act like we're on the same side," said Hughes. He divided them into smaller groups for the rest of the morning. Hughes, Peter, Allen and Graham discussed the exact terms and wording of the contract so that it would pass government scrutiny without tipping their hand to anyone who was monitoring FBI activity on Adler's behalf.

Clinton Jones and Travis Miller met with Win-Win's Anna Hsu and Vernon Heinemann about the facial recognition software. All of them were technical experts who shared a love of computers, and they brainstormed how they might use the software to look for Adler's accomplices. Tracking their movements could uncover a trail back to Adler himself.

Tricia and Diana met with Win-Win's Sofia Winston and Radha to discuss methods for profiling and outwitting suspects. They combined what they knew to create enhanced profiles of Adler and his crew.

Henry and Neal started out in that group, but later moved to another room to discuss Henry's upcoming trip to Paris, where he would follow up on a lead on the Adler case. Peter knew that Henry had a personal motivation to stop the renegade billionaire. Adler seemed determined to recruit Neal for a project that was rumored to be as big as the Ponzi scheme, and his efforts a few months ago had nearly landed Neal in prison.

Peter still hadn't found a chance to talk to Neal alone, and now he walked by the cousins on his way to get coffee. It sounded like Neal was speaking French. Walking past again a few minutes later with a full coffee mug, Peter heard Neal say something in French again, and then Henry responded in what might also have been French. Or maybe German. It didn't actually sound like any language Peter recognized.

" _Non, non, non_." Neal shook his head in despair. "Didn't you learn anything in two years of high school French? Your accent is atrocious."

"How is it you can imitate Neal perfectly in English, but not in French?" Peter asked.

Henry looked intrigued. "Say it again," he told Neal.

Neal repeated a phrase in French. Henry parroted it back perfectly, mimicking both Neal's voice and his accent.

"Not bad," said Neal. "I'd be impressed if I thought you had any idea what you just said."

"What if it was a song?" Peter suggested. "You memorized tons of songs for the Masterson case. Can you set the phrases you need to learn to music?"

"Maybe," Henry said. "If we made the lyrics the English phrases followed by the French translations, I'd probably retain it. It might mean humming in the middle of conversations to bring the phrases to mind, but that's better than completely mangling the language."

Neal nodded. "It's your best shot. I could work with Angela to set some phrases to a tune that you'd remember. We could even use the resources for her ethnomusicology classes to record it. Then you could listen to it on the flight to Paris. We could call her now, see if she'd have time for us tonight. I could get you started and then head to my Abstract Expressionism class."

"You won't have time before your class," said Henry. "We have dinner plans."

"What, like the breakfast plans I knew nothing about?" Neal complained. "Listen, the whole trip up to the Burkes' cabin in the Catskills was supposed to be my combined spring break and birthday celebration. Why can't we just leave it at that?"

Peter realized these dinner plans must be the reason El had warned him to keep his schedule open tonight and not work late.

"This isn't me," Henry said. "June wanted to be part of your birthday, especially since she was out of town last year."

Neal took a deep breath. He was likely thinking back to the fact that last year on his birthday, June had been staying with her daughters, mourning the loss of her husband. She seemed to be rebounding from her grief, but Elizabeth had told Peter that recently the anniversaries of Byron's death and funeral were leaving her blue. If she actually wanted to celebrate something now, of course Neal would want to be supportive. He nodded. "Sure. What's the plan?"

"You'll find out when we get there," Henry said, with what Peter thought was an overly smug smile.

"Are you kidding me?" Neal said. "I need more than that. How about when, where, and do I need to change back into a suit?"

"Trust me," said Henry. "All will be revealed in due time."

"Screw that," said Peter.

Henry looked at him wide-eyed in surprise and then tried a placating smile. "Umm, Uncle Peter, I think you're supposed to be setting a better example for us."

The reminder that Henry's mother had recently married Peter's older brother did nothing to soothe his temper. Instead it reminded him that he was stuck with this troublesome young man for the rest of their lives. It was time to let him know that didn't mean he was getting a free pass for obnoxiousness. "Did you listen to what Radha and Tricia were saying this morning?" Peter asked. "It applies to families, too. You've had plenty of chances to spring surprises on Neal the last few days using the excuse of his birthday. We're at work now. Stop playing games. You want someone to set an example? _You_ do it. The two of you, show everyone here that you're working together instead of trying to outshine each other. Got it?"

"Got it," said Henry.

Neal nodded. "Loud and clear."

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to share what's eating at you?" Peter prompted. He even sat down, to be at Henry's level. "You were getting worried looks from the Win-Win contingent in the opening meeting." He turned to Neal, "Unless you've already gotten it out of him?"

"Not yet," Neal admitted. "He won't talk about it."

"That sounds counter to our goals here today," Peter said.

"Yeah, I get that." Henry looked down at the table and seemed to be gathering his thoughts. "The thing is —"

Jones strode down the hallway, and they could smell the pizzas in the boxes he was carrying. "Get it while it's hot!" he called into their room.

Henry stood up.

"A psychology major should know avoidance isn't going to solve this, whatever it is," Neal warned.

"True, but I'll need every bit of strength I can muster. Food, first. Confessions later." He followed Jones to the conference room where Sofia was setting out plates and napkins.

"Confessions?" Peter asked. "What's he talking about?"

"Whatever it is, I'm on his side."

"Yeah, I know. That's what worries me."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After waiting in line to get slices of pizza, Neal carried his plate and drink over to the end of the table where Henry sat with Diana. She was describing an experiment they were running on a cybercriminal whose code name _Azathoth_ was inspired by his fascination with the works of horror writer H.P. Lovecraft. With coaching from Tricia, Diana was writing fan fiction based on the Cthulhu Mythos, with lead characters based on members of the White Collar team.

"No characters based on me?" Henry asked.

Diana shot a glance at Neal. "No. I promised not to bring Azathoth's attention to Neal's family. And honestly, I have plenty of characters already… Everyone seems to want a role, and they provide so many 'guidelines' about their characters." She shrugged. "Mozzie wanted to be at least six inches taller and suggested sexcapades for his character that… Well, let's just say I wanted to bleach my brain after that particular discussion."

Henry chuckled. "I can imagine. Don't worry about me, though. I won't petition to be included. I like the idea of being off Azathoth's radar."

"You'll be our secret weapon," Neal said, guessing where Henry was going.

"Yeah… and, umm… speaking of secrets…" He shrugged. "I'm sorry if I got carried away with the birthday thing." He finally provided the details of when and where they would have dinner that evening, and also listed who would join them. "And I'll call Fiona after lunch to invite her. I wasn't sure if I could trust her to keep the secret, but I know you'd like to have her there."

It was more people than Neal had expected. "You've got our relatives flying from D.C. and Baltimore in order to attend. They didn't have to do that."

"And you didn't want a big fuss this year. Angela told me."

"Then why arrange such an elaborate dinner?"

"Partly because June missed out on the big party last year, but mostly… guilt."

Neal blinked in surprise. "I don't follow."

"My last birthday party was massive," Henry explained. "Must have been more than a hundred people there, and the festivities went on for days. I know you wanted to keep things simple but… It didn't seem fair."

Diana listened intently, and she wasn't the only one paying attention. Conversations had come to a stop at their end of the table. Most members of the FBI team knew little about Neal's family, and the Win-Win contingent had been fixated on Henry all morning.

Neal suspected it wasn't just the size of Henry's last birthday party that was causing the guilt, but also the number of parties his family had thrown for him over the years. Only recently had Neal reconnected with most of his Caffrey relatives, and birthdays growing up with his mom hadn't amounted to much more than an excuse to play hooky. Pizza and a beer had been his mother's idea of a sufficient celebration when he turned eighteen.

No wonder he didn't love pizza the way Henry did. It was okay for gatherings of his college friends, but not today. He pushed away his plate, admitting to himself that he had no desire to keep eating what had become his default birthday food as a child.

"Your birthday falls in the summer," Neal pointed out, "when it was convenient to schedule the family reunion our grandmother was dreaming of. Those people would have gathered with or without the excuse of your birthday. And anyway, you weren't exactly having fun."

Henry nodded. He'd been a mess last summer.

"Any other surprises you should warn me about?" Neal asked.

"Well, Angela said she wanted to bring the cake."

"Odd, but okay. What else?"

"I've arranged a gift for June. I'd noticed she was feeling low, and often pets are helpful for someone who's grieving…" Henry paused as several people around him gasped. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not springing a pet on her without notice. We'd talked about it several times these last few weeks while planning the dinner party. She thought it over, did the research, and told me what she'd decided would be an ideal pet — in fact she's already met him. She picked him out herself, but he wasn't old enough to be adopted yet. We thought it would be fun to introduce him to everyone during the party."

Neal tried not to worry about what they'd selected. June wouldn't pick anything insane, right?

"So I guess this means I don't have to let you win at laser tag this afternoon?" Henry said.

"No one's letting me win because of my birthday," Neal agreed. He saw Henry glance across the table again and asked, "Are you going to let Sofia win?"

All conversation came to a stop.

"What?" asked Sofia.

"Listen," Neal said. "Everyone from Win-Win is tiptoeing around the two of you. If our goal is to act like a unified team, you've got to work through whatever the issue is." He faced Henry. "You said you had a confession to make, and I don't think it's the plans for my birthday party making you so tense. If the two of you need some privacy, fine, but deal with it."

Sofia stood up. "Go ahead. Tell them you don't want me here."

"That's…" Henry stood up, too. "I'm sorry, Sofia. I can imagine how you feel, and I feel like a jerk for not noticing and dealing with this sooner. There's an empty conference room down the hall. Why don't we —"

"No. No more hiding the truth. I want this out in the open." Sofia was nearly quivering with a mix of emotions. Neal read anger and pain and sadness. She clutched a napkin in one hand, perhaps thinking that she might need it to wipe away tears, but for now her eyes were dry.

Henry walked over to the wall of windows and leaned against them, trying to appear relaxed. "Why don't you tell them? You deserve to be heard."

"I shouldn't have agreed to come." Allen Winston took a step toward her and she held up a hand. "No, Dad. You're not going to fix this. I'm an adult. I have to deal with it on my own."

"I'm so sorry," he said, regret visible in his face.

Henry gazed at the attendees, seeking out the faces of the FBI agents. They looked merely confused, whereas his Baltimore colleagues looked embarrassed. "I've wanted to open a New York branch of Win-Win ever since I joined the company, and that's finally happening. Next month I'll find office space and move up here. Once the office is ready, I'll recruit new people to my team, but I'll also bring some current employees from Baltimore. Radha and Anna are both interested in moving up here, have exceptional skills, and we work well together. Sofia, too, but everyone assumed…" He looked at Sofia again. "Are you sure you don't want to tell them your side?"

She crumpled the napkin in her hand and said, "Henry's dad was ambitious. He always talked about how he was going to be CEO someday, and then Henry was supposed to follow in his footsteps. My dad isn't like that. He didn't push us into Win-Win. In fact he encouraged us to explore our options. My older sisters found other careers, but being an investigator always called to me. I interned at the company in college and then started working full time. I was good at it… I _am_ good at it," Sofia corrected. "One of the best. Like Henry. And people… when he was hired they said…"

"Ooooh," said Tricia.

Neal looked from Henry to Sofia to Tricia. He took in the expressions of Sofia's father and Henry's grandfather. His con artist's skill at reading people warned him where this was going.

"You're both the same age," said Diana, repeating what she'd learned in the morning meetings. "You said Henry was just a couple of months older than you."

"We went to high school together," Henry said.

"And the prom," Sofia added.

Neal nodded. "I'd guess that Graham, the tough-as-nails businessman who moonlights as the family's matchmaker, thought it would be perfect if the company's future CEO married the most talented Winston of the same generation."

Graham cleared his throat. "They were good friends growing up. I didn't know."

"It was just an idle wish. I had no idea so many employees had picked up on it," Allen said. "I should have handled things differently."

"We're a bunch of nosy investigators," Sofia said. "If they're any good at their jobs, of course they figured out what you had in mind."

"Earlier this year, when I came out," Henry added, "I didn't realize that a romance between us was such a wide-spread expectation. Pops had only hinted at it once, but looking back I realize we were paired up on a lot of cases. I had so much on my mind around telling my co-workers I'm gay, I only realized last week the way people were acting around Sofia."

"Now you want her on your team," Neal said, having put the pieces together, "but you don't want to make her even more uncomfortable. Only at this point, you're not sure if it's worse for her to work with you here in New York, or for her to feel excluded from a new opportunity."

"That about sums it up," Henry agreed. "Sofia, what do you want? You're welcome to join my new team, but I don't want to pressure you."

"I…" She glanced around the room, as if seeking advice.

"If you'd accept a suggestion?" Hughes said.

Sofia nodded.

"Don't jump into a decision. Realistically it's going to take months for Win-Win's New York office to be operational, and the team will likely be in a growth mode for quite some time, adding new people gradually. Take the opportunity to move beyond what you think people expect of you, and consider what you want. The offer to join the team will stay open, correct?"

Henry nodded. "I'm sure we'll always need a good investigator."

The room fell silent, and Neal knew they needed to move past this. "So, does this mean you'll let Sofia beat you at laser tag?"

Henry looked at Sofia.

Her chin rose and she insisted, "I'm not looking for pity. I'll do my best to win, based on my own skills and nothing else."

"That's the spirit," said Peter.

"I like her," said Diana in an aside to Neal. "I get why they were friends."

"Yeah, but I'm also starting to get why he was so nervous about coming out. I didn't realize how complicated it would be."

Diana grinned. "Are you going to let _him_ win at laser tag?"

"No way."

 **Laser tag facility, New York City. Monday afternoon. March 21, 2005.**

The laser tag teams had been intermixed, with FBI agents and Win-Win employees paired up. In the end, Neal and Henry were the last two players. They took a break as the staff made changes to the configuration of the room to make it even more challenging.

He checked his watch. They'd need to make this final round quick. They didn't have a lot of time if they were going to have dinner and birthday cake at June's mansion. Neal had to be at his Monday night class by 7:00.

He tugged at the vest he'd been wearing for the last couple of hours. The wires were loosely attached and now they popped off at the least effort. "Daphne," he said, calling out to the woman who was responsible for the equipment. He held out the wires for her to see.

"Looks like some of the wiring tore while you were playing. Let's get you a replacement. This way."

He followed her into an office where she took his old vest and handed him a new one. He was adjusting it to fit comfortably while she went to a terminal and entered a serial number.

"I'll get this one registered to you. Neal, right?"

"Henry," he corrected.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. We're related. People confuse us all the time."

She finished typing and pressed a button. All the lights on his vest lit up. "That's what we want to see. You're ready to go."

"Thanks, Daphne. Wish me luck." He noticed one of his shoes was coming untied, and he sat down to retie the laces.

Daphne chuckled. "Those your lucky socks?"

"Yeah, it's my birthday," said Neal.

Ten minutes later Neal was declared the winner when the system indicated a direct hit on Henry's vest.

"I got you first," Henry insisted, until his grandfather told him to be quiet.

Jones trailed behind with Neal as they left the facility. "Everyone else was watching both of you from the viewing area, but I had my eye on the computer screen."

"Always the gamer," Neal said. "Did you wish you could control us with a joystick?"

"If I could do that, hanging out in the van during stakeouts would be much more interesting. I did see something unusual, though. The computer recorded two shots, seconds apart, from two different laser weapons, but both said they hit Henry's vest. I mean, it looked like you shot Henry, and he shot himself."

"You know that didn't happen. He's too competitive, and he said he wasn't going to let me win."

"Yeah, but how did you do it?" Jones asked. "If it were Travis or Vernon or Anna, I'd assume they hacked the system, but that's not your style. Unless you conned one of them into it?"

"Nope. None of them had anything to do with it."

"Did you smuggle in a mirror on your vest to reflect his shots back at him?"

Peter unlocked his car. They were both riding with him. "I remember telling Neal over the weekend that Henry overcomplicates things, and sometimes a simple solution is the best way to beat him."

"You were right," said Neal as he climbed into the back seat.

Diana had been saying goodbye to Sofia, but now followed Neal into the back seat. "How did you do it?" she asked.

It might have been a simple solution, but Neal spent at least fifteen minutes bragging about how he'd pulled off the win. "And Fiona said she didn't see how people could confuse us," he concluded.

"I'm guessing you're on your best behavior around your girlfriend," Diana retorted. "Whereas we get to see that you're easily capable of being as annoying as Henry."

 **Ellington Mansion, Manhattan. Monday evening. March 21, 2005.**

The seafood fettuccine was exquisite. _And it's not pizza_ , Neal thought happily. There was a larger crowd than he'd originally wanted, but now that they were here, he enjoyed talking with them. When he tired of being the focus of their attention, he turned the conversation to his cousin Angela and Michael. The same people who felt protective of him also felt a need to vet Michael.

Neal already knew Michael from their classes together at Columbia, and thought he and Angela were great together. He raised a glass in a silent toast when Michael turned to him and mouthed, " _Help._ "

Angela grinned and whispered something to her boyfriend. He stood up, holding her hand. "It's been a pleasure getting to know Angela's family this evening," Michael said. "Even though it's only been a few months since we met, we have an announcement to make."

"Oh, my," said Irene Caffrey, leaning forward to look at her granddaughter. "I didn't see an engagement ring on her hand. Did you, Edmund?"

"He might plan to give it to her now," her husband replied. He was watching Michael intently, withholding approval of the boyfriend he'd met for the first time tonight.

Noelle Caffrey Burke smiled up at new husband Joe. "If this is a proposal, I hope they decide to get married in Hawaii. I want an excuse to go back."

"I know this is Neal's birthday, and I don't want to take the limelight away from him," Michael said. "But I'd be honored if you'd let me…" He smiled radiantly down at Angela. "Do you want to be the one to tell them?"

She stood up, returning his besotted smile before turning to face her family. "Last night, I asked Michael if he'd do me the honor of…" She looked up at him again and they burst out laughing. She leaned against him and said, "I asked Michael if he'd be willing not only to attend this party, but also bake the cake!"

Fiona walked into the dining room carrying a cake. While everyone gathered around the buffet table to admire Michael's handiwork, Fiona explained to Neal that she hadn't been able to leave work early enough to join them for dinner, but had arranged with June to slip in to the kitchen when she arrived, so she could be part of the birthday cake surprise.

Michael sliced and served while Angela extolled his baking skills. She described a cake he'd made for Valentine's and a sci-fi themed one he'd provided for a party at Columbia recently.

Irene picked up a piece. "Is this Hummingbird Cake?"

Michael nodded eagerly. "Angela told me you used to make it for birthdays, and I wanted to try it. I looked up the recipe online. I hope you like it, and I'd be thrilled if you'd share your own recipe with me."

They continued their conversation while Edmund listened, still making up his mind about Michael.

Henry slipped in to take a corner piece.

"Typical," Angela said to Neal. "Always the sweet tooth. Give him a chance and he'll claim the piece with the most frosting."

"You know it's only a year and a half until he turns thirty. I already have some ideas for the party."

"I'm helping with that," Angela said. "It needs to be really obnoxious."

"That's a given," Neal agreed. Then he described the project he had in mind to help Henry learn a few French phrases that would be useful in his travels.

"I've been exploring international music for one of my classes. There's a French singer whose songs I'd love to use. If Henry's going to be humming, it might as well be a French tune, right?"

Henry brought them both pieces of cake, and heard Angela's comment. "We're not talking ' _Au Clair de la Lune_ ,' are we?"

"No. What I have in mind is a current pop artist," she promised.

His fears allayed, Henry returned to the buffet to snag a second piece of cake. He struck up a conversation with Michael, who laughed at something he said.

Angela smiled her pleasure. "I'm glad they're getting along," she told Neal.

"You know Henry ran a background check on him?"

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Did he do the same for Fiona?"

Neal glanced over to where Fiona was talking to Noelle, the aunt who was in many ways like a mother to him now. She was also a professor of psychology. And he'd been concerned about Henry questioning Fiona? Both women were smiling. That was a good sign, right? "Yeah. I told him it wasn't necessary, but he thinks he has to watch out for us."

"I've been thinking it's time for us to return the favor. I mean, he just came out a few months ago. He probably hasn't had many serious relationships, not introduce-someone-to-your-mom relationships like what I have with Michael and you have with Fiona, right?"

Neal wondered what Fiona and Noelle were talking about, and didn't answer until Angela nudged him. Then he asked, "We need to make sure his next boyfriend isn't going to take advantage of him?"

"I don't want him to get hurt," Angela said. "And that almost makes me understand his obsession with vetting my boyfriends."

Neal nodded, but before he could say anything the doorbell rang.

Henry grabbed his arm, leading him toward the door. "C'mon, kiddo. Let's meet June's newest lodger."

In the entry hall, they opened a crate that contained a tiny, wriggling puppy.

"It's a Pug," Henry said.

Neal, who had wanted a dog when he was a child, knew that he was going to volunteer to walk and care for this little guy whenever June wanted a break. And even when she didn't want a break.

He carried the puppy to June, who sat down to hold her new pet. "Welcome to the party, Bugsy," she said. Most of the guests gathered around to meet him.

Fiona put her arm through Neal's. She didn't appear to be flustered by her experience with Noelle. "June is such a lovely person. I do wish I could have met her husband."

"He was an inspiration to me," Neal said. "In the weeks before he died, he recorded a CD filled with advice for situations he thought I'd be likely to encounter. It was around this time last year that June gave it to me. You know, I have to admit I only listened to a couple of tracks. Losing him… it was still so fresh, hearing his voice was too painful."

"Do you think you could listen to it now?" Fiona asked.

"I'd like to give it a try."

They heard a series of clicks on the hardwood floor, followed by a tiny yip. They looked down to see the Pug tugging on Neal's shoelace.

Peter scooped up the puppy. "You're a good boy. Just need a little training and some self-control, and you'll be fine."

"Are you talking to him or me?" Neal asked.

Peter thought it over. "It's good advice, either way."

 _A/N: Thanks to Silbrith for beta services and patience as I reworked this story._

 _In previous stories, Neal described Henry as an "alternate me" - someone similar to him in many respects, and whose life Neal's might have resembled if circumstances had been different. Henry likes to think of himself as a big brother to Neal, which can sometimes conflict with Peter's father-figure role. In the next vignette, Henry will push Neal too far, prompting Neal and Angela to seek revenge._

 _Travis and Tricia are agents Silbrith and I invented to round out the White Collar team. Graham is Henry's paternal grandfather and former CEO of Win-Win; he's also become a fan of Neal's after overcoming his concerns about Neal's past._

 _Edmund and Irene are grandparents to Henry, Neal and Angela. Edmund is a retired Ambassador, and Irene was an actress. Noelle is their daughter and the twin sister of Neal's mother, although the relationship is quite complicated, as revealed in the final chapters of Caffrey Disclosure. Noelle's husband Joe Burke is Peter's older brother; Noelle and Joe met in Caffrey Flashback and their romance played out in several stories._

 _See the Secrets and Lies post on the Penna and Silbrith Conversation blog for more about Neal's secrets and the lone wolf tendencies of both Neal and Henry._

 _See the Caffrey Vignettes Pinterest board for pins related to this story._

 _References to other stories:_

Caffrey Conversation: Neal's memory of his eighteenth birthday (chapter 4)

By the Book: Neal goes to the emergency room (chapter 7-8), Neal's original firearm certification test (chapter 11), Henry's first visit to FBI office after which he tags along on a case and breaks his arm (chapter 17-19), Win-Win's infamous reputation (chapter 19)

Caffrey Envoy: Neal and Peter communicate in Morse code

Caffrey Flashback: Neal's love of hide-and-seek (chapter 2-3), Henry & Graham plan to sail to Long Island (chapter 7), Neal impersonates Henry (chapter 10), we meet Neal's grandparents: Irene & Edmund (chapter 18), Henry impersonates Neal (chapter 19), Neal sings Au Clair de la Lune (chapter 20), Henry arranges breakfast on Neal's birthday and we meet Angela (chapter 29), Graham admits that his son's ambition led him astray (chapter 30), Adler wants to recruit Neal (chapter 31), June gives Neal the CD from Byron (chapter 32)

Caffrey Disclosure: Intro to Masterson Music case (chapter 4), Sara dyes Neal's hair after Neal takes Henry's shirt to impersonate him at Win-Win (chapter 18), Graham the matchmaker (chapter 19), Vernon is an expert in facial recognition technology (chapter 23), Henry's love of hide-and-seek (chapter 41), Henry's birthday party (chapter 43)

The Woman in Blue: Jones is an avid gamer (chapter 10), intro to Azathoth (chapter 18)

The Queen's Jewels: Fiona's introduction to novelty socks (chapter 14)

Caffrey Aloha: Noelle and Joe get married (chapter 3), Henry comes out (chapter 3)

The Dreamer: Tricia becomes a behavioral analyst (chapter 2), Fiona is scared when agents burst in with guns (chapter 11)

The Mirror: Henry uses the facial recognition software to track Agent Fowler (chapter 2), Mozzie's "help" with Diana's stories (chapter 10), Michael brings a cake to the party (chapter 13), the "ordeal with Keller" (most chapters)

Visions from Beyond: first example of Diana's fan fiction stories


	3. Chapter 3 - April Fool

_A/N: This chapter opens about a week and half after the "Casual Day" chapter ends._ _Something odd is going on at June Ellington's mansion on April Fool's Day. Is Neal playing a prank on his cousin Henry, or is Henry pranking Neal? Or is someone else pulling the strings?_

 _See the end of the chapter for info about the non-canon characters, and references to other stories in the AU in case you want to catch up or refresh your memory about past events._

 **Neal's loft. Thursday night. March 31, 2005.**

Neal Caffrey dropped his backpack on the floor just inside his loft when he got home. For his Computational Art class he had a heavy text book and his laptop to lug around, and it was a physical and mental relief to shed that burden.

"Hey, roomie!"

Neal blinked in surprise at the familiar voice. It was Henry Winslow — older cousin, unofficial older brother, someone he'd described to Peter as a "force of chaos." Henry was sitting on the sofa, drinking a beer.

"Early flight?" Neal asked. "I thought you'd be landing about now."

"Decided to drive, instead. Easier to manage the luggage." He nodded toward three suitcases beside the fireplace.

Three suitcases? What was he planning to do for the next week? Move in?

"And June said she needed me for something on Friday, so I thought getting in earlier and catching a full night's sleep would be best."

Odd that June hadn't mentioned anything about that to Neal. On the other hand, she'd been busy recently, making plans for another remodeling project, and he'd been absorbed in projects of his own. In fact, it felt like he'd been running all day, right up until his class, and then had rushed home. He poured a glass of water for himself and then sat in the chair next to the sofa.

"Not wine?"

"Not tonight." Neal slouched, toed off his shoes, and then put his feet up on the coffee table. "So, umm, about the 'roomie' part… You don't have to sleep on my sofa, you know. June has a spare bedroom down the hall ready for you."

Henry nodded but then rambled on about their past adventures, those four years from the time Neal turned eighteen until he was twenty-two, when they'd roamed the country making their way as con artists and musicians. Sometimes they slept in Henry's car, but they got good at convincing hotels they had a reservation and sneaking a free night's stay. If the room only had one bed, a coin toss decided who had to sleep on the floor.

They'd had some fun along the way, but Neal was glad to have a steady job and a place of his own now. He glanced at his bed and yawned.

"Am I boring you?" Henry asked.

Neal shook his head. "Sorry. Haven't been sleeping well, lately."

"What's wrong?" Henry asked. He had a master's degree in psychology. Of course he jumped to the conclusion that stress or some other problem was giving Neal sleepless nights.

Neal shrugged. "I think something's up with the furnace. It's been too cold the last few nights, and I keep waking up. I'll grab an extra blanket tonight, and then tomorrow I'll mention it to June."

"Good idea." Henry stood and grabbed two of his suitcases. "Same guest room I used before?"

"Yeah." Neal picked up the third suitcase. "This way."

 **June Ellington's mansion. Friday morning. April 1, 2005.**

June's chef had set up a breakfast buffet in the dining room. Henry hid a yawn as he loaded his plate. He hadn't slept as well as he had on prior visits.

Neal savored a cup of coffee and asked his landlady, "Didn't you say the contractors will be here today?"

"That's right," she confirmed. "But it's just for the final measurements. They're finishing another project and won't start work here for another week."

"Do you think they could look at the vents in my loft? For some reason the bedroom area gets much colder than the rest of the space."

"Of course I can ask them to take a look. Why didn't you mention it earlier?"

"I've only noticed it the last couple of days."

Henry, who had taken a seat beside Neal, added, "Send them up to my room, too. It was absolutely freezing in the closet."

"How odd. I'll have them check there, too." June smiled at him. "Did you notice the shelves in that closet? The top one is still uneven. Installing those shelves was Byron's one attempt at being a handyman before he admitted that his talents ran more to sleight-of-hand."

Oh, yeah, he'd noticed. After a nearly sleepless night, those shelves had given him a big shock this morning. He told himself he must have been imagining things. "I'll give them another look next time I'm up there," Henry promised. Then he glanced toward the staircase. "Where's your other guest?"

"What other guest?"

"I heard someone — sounded like they were in the room downstairs. I wasn't sure if it was a man on the telephone, or a TV playing."

June shook her head. "The room beneath yours is Byron's old study. I send someone in to dust occasionally, but other than that it's always empty. He may have had a radio in there, but it hasn't been turned on in more than a year." She looked concerned.

"How about I take a look?" Neal suggested.

"Would you mind? I should do it, but going in there… It still makes me so sad to be in that room… Byron loved that study so much."

"I'll go with you," Henry offered. He needed to resolve this if he was going to have a chance of sleeping tonight.

They didn't find anyone in the room, nor any signs of an intruder. The radio was off, and it had been long enough since the last time it was dusted that it was obvious it hadn't been touched last night.

Neal pulled open the curtains and looked at the traffic. "Your room faces this street. Any chance what you heard was someone outside on a cell phone, or a car radio?"

"No. It was definitely inside the house, and I heard it multiple times. Fact is, it woke me at least twice."

"It's hard to believe someone snuck in, not after Mozzie upgraded the security system." Neal checked his watch. "I'll call him from the Bureau and ask him to review the security tapes. Can you hang around the house with June today, at least until we figure this out?"

Henry nodded. "June and I had plans for this morning, and the real estate agent said she'd be willing to meet here to talk about what I need."

"I thought June was meeting with the contractors this morning," Neal said.

"That shouldn't take long."

"Well, try to hang around when she's with them."

"You think they're behind the voice I heard?"

"No, it's just that June's been vague about what she's having them do. Even Mozzie hasn't been able to figure out what room she's remodeling next."

"Does it matter?"

Neal shrugged. "It's her home. She can remodel anything she wants. I'm just curious why she'd keep something like that a secret."

"I'll find out," Henry promised.

"What are you going to tell her about the voice you heard?"

After casting a frustrated glance around the room, Henry said, "I'll tell her I must have dreamed it."

 _Damn it_ , Henry thought as Neal left for work. The night's weirdness in the closet and the mysterious voice both had ties to a dead man. Just his luck that nothing freaked him out as much as the idea of ghosts. And now his best hope for a rational explanation lay in Mozzie's hands.

 **FBI Manhattan White Collar Division. Friday morning. April 1, 2005.**

As soon as he got to his desk, Neal called Mozzie and filled him in.

From the Hawaiian music in the background, Neal concluded that his friend was hanging out at the Aloha Emporium this morning. "I'm on my way," Mozz finally promised, as a female voice in the background called out Neal's name. "Did you hear that?"

"Angela wants to talk to me?" Neal guessed. His younger cousin worked at the Emporium part time. "Tell her I'll call her." A moment later he dialed her cell phone number. "What's up?" he asked.

"I was hoping you could tell me," she said, sounding exasperated. "I thought Mozzie would keep me informed, but he keeps changing the subject to a romantic getaway he has planned with Janet. I'm not that annoying when I talk about dating Michael, am I?"

Neal chuckled. "Not quite. At least you don't offer unsolicited advice on my relationships."

"You don't need advice. Fiona is great. Just tell me our plan is on track."

"Everything's under control," Neal promised. But he listened as Angela reminded him of the next steps in their plan, as if he didn't have it all memorized. He was co-author of this scheme, after all. For the first time he was on the receiving end of Angela's bossy nature. He looked up to see Peter standing at his desk. He could only deal with one boss at a time. "Listen, I need to get back to work. See you tonight."

"Fiona?" Peter guessed, naming Neal's girlfriend.

"I wish."

"Well, I have some news I know you don't wish for. Travis is out sick today and Collins is on the verge of going home with the same bug, and that means we need to cover for them in the van."

Neal groaned.

"I know. Surveillance isn't your idea of fun, but it's our turn. We'll head out right after the morning briefing."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Usually Neal was so full of energy that he drove Peter nuts when they were confined in the fake municipal van, but not this morning. The kid might have recently turned twenty-six, but his eyes were drifting shut like he was a kindergartner who had missed his nap.

"Rough night?" Peter asked.

"Huh? Oh, sort of. I have a… project at home that kept me up late the last few nights. It's starting to catch up with me."

That pause before _project_ worried Peter. "What kind of project?"

"Remember that story you told me, about how when you were a little kid your older brother tricked you into thinking you'd stumbled onto Bigfoot's lair?"

Peter nodded. "You didn't tell anyone about that, right? That was supposed to be just between us."

"Yeah. My lips are sealed. But you could say it inspired me. You see, Henry arrived last night. He's here to find office space for the branch of Winston-Winslow he's gonna open in New York, but he made sure to arrive just in time for April Fool's Day… He has to be up to something, right?"

"Naturally," said Peter, because he'd met Henry enough times to know wherever he went, mischief followed.

"Obviously I have to defend myself. That's why…" Neal stopped as his cell phone rang. Looking at the caller ID he said, "It's Henry. I'll put him on speaker if you promise not to make a sound." He waited for Peter to nod and then answered.

"Mozzie's here," Henry announced.

"Good. Did he figure out the source of the voice you heard last night?"

"He couldn't find anyone on the security tapes. He's on his way up to go through Byron's study and he's dressed as a… You couldn't have warned me?"

"Dressed as what?" Neal asked.

"A ghostbuster."

Neal snickered. "As in 'who you gonna call?' in the movie _Ghostbusters_?"

"Yeah. Where did that come from? I thought he was obsessed with aliens and Hitler clones."

"And the paranormal, although he hasn't talked much about that for a while. Ever since he got involved with the local SETI group he's been focused on aliens, but before that he thought there could be demons in the tunnels under Columbia. I guess I should warn you, he's a big Joss Whedon fan, and believes that _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ was a documentary disguised as fiction. He says he's decoded the true message Whedon was trying to share with the enlightened few. I'm sure he has a theory unifying aliens, clones and the paranormal, if you care to ask him."

"No, thanks." Henry huffed out a breath, a sound of pure annoyance. "Is he actually going to find anything? Or is he too distracted by his obsessions to focus on reality?"

"He'll get to the root cause," Neal promised. "You just may need to apply a filter when he explains his findings."

"I can do that," Henry said, although it sounded as if he were trying to convince himself. "Any chance you could come home for lunch, and run interference?"

Peter nodded and gestured, and Neal responded, "Okay if I bring Peter along?"

Henry hesitated a moment but agreed, and then they ended the call.

"Let me guess," Peter said. "You're trying to convince Henry the mansion is haunted?"

"It's a joint con with Angela. We both wanted payback after he manipulated us on spring break, and she's still annoyed about the way he dumped us in the lake. It seemed safe to assume he's planning yet another prank. We're joining forces against him. Turns out ghost stories kind of freak him out."

Peter could see that Henry deserved a comeuppance, but he had a concern. "What about June? It's barely a year since her husband died. Is she going to be upset by what you have planned?"

"She's in on it. It would be nearly impossible to do everything we have in mind without her figuring it out, and it's much easier with her help. When I first mentioned a haunting I wondered if she'd balk, but she surprised me. She wanted us to make it look like it's Byron's ghost. She said he'd love the idea of being part of one more con."

"I assume Mozzie is a member of your crew?"

"Yeah, but he's the wildcard. He could get carried away, start believing the con. That's where I'll be glad to have your influence over lunch. Welcome to the crew."

Peter felt honored and a little disconcerted. "You don't actually believe in ghosts, do you?"

"I think most ghost stories are just that: stories. People con themselves into believing crazier things than I ever tried to sell them as a con artist. Still, as Shakespeare put it, 'there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio.' Back in St. Louis, I was more open to Michael Darling's theory of a Christmas miracle than you were."

"Yeah, since he thought _you_ were the miracle, you may have been a little biased. If today's con requires me to pretend to believe in ghosts, maybe I should bow out."

"Not at all. Having a skeptic helps sell the con. Henry will want to side with you, but he won't be able to discount what he's experienced. That will add to his confusion. Plus, he wouldn't expect me to bring along someone to debunk the con. That throws doubt on any suspicions he might have that I'm behind it."

Peter smiled and shook his head.

"What?"

"Have I mentioned recently that I'm glad you're on our side now?"

 **June Ellington's mansion. Friday noon. April 1, 2005.**

Henry opened the door when Neal and Peter arrived. He'd had a twinge of doubt when Neal invited Peter along for lunch, but he soon squashed that. This was gonna be perfect.

"Mozzie waved me away when I checked on him. He said he'll be down soon to fill us in, and June's chef told me lunch will be ready in a few minutes. June's upstairs and wants to talk to you. I guess it's time to fill you in on our secret."

"What secret?" Neal asked.

"I wasn't kidding last night when I called you _roomie_. We're really going to be roommates. I've worked out a lease with June. That's why I'm only meeting with a commercial real estate agent, and not hunting for an apartment."

"I didn't realize June had a second apartment here," Peter said.

"She doesn't. I'm moving into Neal's loft."

"The hell you are," said Neal. "Nice try, but I'm not buying it. There's no way that would work. There's only one bedroom. Are you trying to convince me you'd sleep on the sofa long-term?"

"Maybe she's getting you a sleeper sofa?" Peter suggested, but he raised a brow to indicate that he, too, thought this was a joke.

Henry started up the stairs. "She's adding a second bedroom. Come and see. Hurry up. The contractor can't stay much longer." He quickened his pace, and they rushed to keep up. The less time they had to ask him questions, the better.

"That isn't possible," Neal insisted as he jogged up the stairs. "There's no space for a second bedroom."

"You'll see," Henry promised.

They reached the top floor. "What, are you going to build it on the balcony?" Neal scoffed just as Henry opened the door to the loft.

"Oh, you guessed," said June.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

It felt like a letdown, Peter had to admit as he climbed the stairs. Henry's gambit was so obviously not true. Was it a bad sign that he'd actually come to enjoy the complexity Henry usually imbued in his crazy stunts?

Then he walked through the door of Neal's loft. Not only was the aforementioned contractor there, taking measurements on the balcony, but a much more familiar figure was standing beside June.

"Joe!" Peter called out, shocked to see his brother. "I didn't know you were in town."

Hearing Peter's voice, Joe transformed. He'd been standing with arms crossed and a forbidding expression, but now he visibly loosened up and smiled. "I'd arranged with Elizabeth to be a surprise guest tonight at your townhouse, but you managed to surprise me first. I didn't know you were going to be here."

"Last-minute lunch invitation," Peter explained. "Neal and I had surveillance duty in the van today, and he took pity on me when the lunch hour rolled around. Will you be staying long?"

"Only the one night," Joe said. "Now that I'm settled in Baltimore, I put my home in Albany on the market. It sold last week, so I'm driving up to clear out the furniture and things I'd left behind. I'll carry some stuff back in my truck, but most will go to a consignment store." Glancing at Neal and Henry and then back to Peter he added, "Noelle sends her regards."

The contractor handed the piece of paper he'd been writing on to Joe. He made a comment in Spanish, and Peter recognized the word for _crazy_.

"Thanks, Horatio," Joe said. "I'll stop by your office this afternoon."

"Thank you, Horatio," June echoed.

 _Horatio?_ Peter wondered if Neal's quote from Hamlet this morning had been a coincidence. "Interesting name," he said in an aside to Neal as the contractor made his way downstairs.

"He's Horatio Vasquez, one of the owners of Vasquez Brothers Construction. Usually he runs the office and sends the rest of the family out to job sites. I met most of them when June remodeled the loft's bathroom last year."

Peter nodded. He'd met a few members of the family when they remodeled his kitchen a few months ago, but mostly El had dealt with the construction crew.

"You get the vision, right?" Henry said. "Build a second bedroom on this half of the balcony. Put in a smaller door to the balcony back here, near the fireplace."

Peter got it, and he understood why Joe was frowning and Horatio had grumbled. The balcony was spectacular, and the wall of windows in the loft made the space seem much larger than it actually was. Replacing those windows with a solid bedroom wall would make the apartment seem much smaller and darker. "You'd have to put a wall here, too," he said, pointing to the current bedroom. "Otherwise Neal wouldn't have any privacy with a roommate, especially if he had… well, you know, had Fiona over."

Neal's expression tightened even more at the thought of that wall. Closing up the space would make all the rooms feel tight.

"Yes, naturally," June agreed.

"But you can't be serious," Peter continued. "Reducing the size of that spectacular balcony would decrease the value of your home."

Joe nodded. He was here in his role as an architect.

June held fast. "Some things are more important than money. You mentioned Fiona, but she's leaving for Europe in less than a week and will be away for months. Neal's going to be lonely. Having Henry here will help."

Henry started to nod, but then looked askance at Neal. "I'm not exactly planning to replace Neal's girlfriend."

"Neal knows what I mean," June said. "And Henry, poor thing. It's obvious you're nervous about moving to New York."

Neal snorted. "Yeah right. Henry never gets nervous."

"Then you haven't been paying attention," she insisted.

Everyone turned toward Henry. "Why would I be nervous?" he asked, looking uncomfortable.

Peter frowned. This wasn't Henry in the midst of a con. He wasn't smirking or feigning innocence.

June put an arm around her newest houseguest. "You grew up surrounded by an extensive loving and supportive family. Then you went to college in an environment designed to support young students who were away from home for the first time. When you struck out on your own, you weren't really alone. Neal was with you, right up until you returned to your hometown. Now, for the first time, you're moving to a massive new city without much of a safety net. Neal's really all you have here. Of course you want him as a roommate as you get on your feet."

Henry shrugged and stared at the floor. "I'm fine. If Neal doesn't want me here, I'm perfectly capable of being on my own." There was defiance in his voice, but it was deeply shadowed with sadness.

Neal was staring, mouth open, until Peter prodded him. "Of course you're welcome to stay with me," Neal said, looking nearly as uncomfortable as Henry did.

June's phone beeped and she read a text message. "That's Emil, telling us lunch is ready. Let's continue this conversation downstairs."

They followed her down, but Neal paused at the entrance of the dining room and asked Peter, "Should I call off the haunting? I feel like I'm kicking Henry when he's down."

"Don't make any rash decisions. I don't think we've gotten to the bottom of this, yet."

Neal took a seat at the table, but Joe grabbed Peter's arm when Neal walked away. Nodding toward Mozzie in his ghostbuster attire he asked, "Is that the guy from my bachelor party?"

"The one who turned the party from a poker game into an investigation, yes," Peter confirmed. "He's… odd. Best to roll with whatever he says. We'll get back to the discussion about the loft, I promise."

"We'd better," Joe said. "This house has spectacular architecture, and it would be ruined if they go through with this crazy plan." They took seats beside each other at the table.

"Just wait," Peter warned, and then paused as the chef placed a plate of shrimp scampi in front of him. He closed his eyes to appreciate the aroma for a moment and then continued in a low voice, "Things are going to get crazier before we sort this out."

Sure enough, Mozzie rambled on about ghosts and poltergeists and other phenomena, this time leaving Joe as the one with his mouth open in shock and amazement.

Both Henry and Neal looked uncomfortable, and finally Henry broke in to ask if the contractor had found the issue with the furnace.

"It's a cold spot, I'm telling you," Mozzie insisted.

"Horatio looked at it when he first arrived," June said. "I believe you and Mozzie were conferring then, and it was before Joe joined us. He made an adjustment to the vents, but admitted that furnaces aren't his specialty. He said he'll send one of his nephews over on Monday if we're still having problems."

"I'll have it resolved before then," Mozzie said. "I haven't found the source of the haunting yet, but I'll stay all night if I need to."

"There's no such thing as ghosts," Peter noted. "My money's on the HVAC expert to clear things up. If the furnace is malfunctioning, it's no wonder you're hearing strange noises. The vents are probably echoing and distorting the sounds from the furnace."

"I have to side with Peter on this," agreed Joe. "Leaks in the ductwork could be causing your cold spots. And getting back to the upstairs apartment, I applaud your intentions, June. Truly I do. I'd want my daughters to support each other the same way you want Neal and Henry to, but I'm begging you to let me sketch out some other options. Instead of building on the balcony, you could expand the other direction. For instance, we could reconfigure the kitchen and add a doorway into the next room. You'd sacrifice a guest room, but that's a better solution than destroying the balcony. I'd also like to look at what's beneath Neal's loft on the third floor. A two-story apartment might be another option."

"Is that all right with you, Henry?" June asked. "I know you had your heart set on living on the balcony."

He swallowed a bite of garlic bread and nodded. "Sure. Whatever you think is best. I'm just starting to realize what a stroke of luck it was that you agreed to this."

"I thought you would," June said. "Goodness, look at the time. Your real estate agent will be here any moment, and Neal and Peter probably need to get back to work."

"Yes, we do," Peter acknowledged. "Neal, I think you left your suit jacket upstairs."

Neal stood up. "I'll be right back."

"Joe, once Henry and his real estate agent are situated, I'll take you up to the third floor and we'll talk about options." June stood up. "Follow me, Henry. I have the perfect place for you to work this afternoon. And Mozzie, let me know if you need anything in the study. I'll stop by to check on you."

Soon the dining room was cleared of everyone but Peter and Joe.

"What the hell is going on?" Joe asked. "I dropped by to review final plans for a kitchen remodel. No one said anything about Neal's apartment until I showed up this morning." He shook his head. "Before today, I thought these were mostly sane people."

"Yeah, but today is April Fool's Day."

"Oh." Joe's frown started to melt away.

"I think the best way to cope is to play along. I'm still unraveling the web of cons, but my advice is to consider that the biggest fools in this house today are the ones who think they're in control." Peter glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "It's like that Bigfoot prank you pulled on me. It worked too well. I was so convinced that I'd found his lair that I called the authorities and you got in trouble. Now imagine if we had been closer to the same age and I'd pulled an equally devious stunt on you at the same time. Who do you think would have won?"

Joe nodded. "Mom, of course. I think I'm going to call her this afternoon and apologize for the whole Bigfoot thing. Suddenly I have a lot more empathy for her."

"Too bad Noelle couldn't join you on this trip," Peter said, referring to his brother's new wife. "A psychology professor might be able to tell you what everyone's up to."

Joe grinned. "As a matter of fact, there's still a chance of that. She came up with me, and I'm looking forward to filling her in on today's insanity."

"Henry doesn't know she's here?" Noelle was Henry's mother.

"She said she wanted to surprise him. He thinks she had to stay in Baltimore to lead a seminar."

"Do you know what she has in mind?"

"No, but she promised I could tag along and watch." Joe grinned. "Now that you pointed out it's April Fool's Day, I have high expectations. She's sneaky."

"I hope she won't mind if El and I tag along, too. I have a feeling this is gonna be good."

 **June Ellington's mansion. Friday evening. April 1, 2005.**

Angela joined Neal and Henry for dinner. She'd brought a variety of selections from Flying Saucer Pizza, giving June's chef a break, and after the meal they gathered in the basement where there was a projection TV and an extensive collection of DVDs.

"No ghost stories," Henry had insisted.

"Here's what I had in mind," Neal said, pointing to a shelf of classic thrillers. "How about _Wait Until Dark_?"

Angela hesitated. She's watched it once before, and it was deliciously scary. Even Stephen King had said it was frightening, so she could understand why Neal picked it. The goal was to scare Henry after all, but June had caught Angela in the hallway as she arrived and warned about being too obvious about it. "I've seen that one, but not _Deathtrap._ Let's try that, instead."

Neal picked it up and read the back cover. "It says it's a comedy."

"Sounds perfect." Henry snatched the DVD from Neal and placed it in the player. "Grab your popcorn and settle in."

Soon Angela realized why June had recommended this movie. The characters were attempting to outsmart each other. You laughed, but you understood their paranoia as their schemes became apparent.

As the movie ended, Angela again followed June's advice, suggesting they go to the kitchen for ice cream. On their way they ran into June, who was holding her new puppy. "Do you want to join us for ice cream?" Angela asked.

"That sounds delightful. Would you boys mind taking Bugsy for his walk? I'll help Angela set out the ice cream and toppings. We can make sundaes when you're back."

Neal and Henry were amenable to the suggestion, and Angela followed June into the kitchen.

"You're looking blue," June said.

"I thought we had the perfect plan. This morning Neal said everything was on track, but when I got here…" Angela took the containers of ice cream June handed her and carried them to a buffet table in the dining room. "Well, it doesn't feel like Neal's heart is in our prank anymore, and I guess I can understand why. Henry looks so disheartened. What went wrong?"

"I'm sure you knew Henry would have an April Fool's scheme, too."

Angela followed June back into the kitchen, where they found toppings and sundae dishes and spoons. "We knew he'd try something. When I first heard about his plan to become Neal's roommate I assumed that was it, but he doesn't seem smug enough about it, and Neal doesn't seem annoyed enough."

June sat down and gestured for Angela to do the same. "You two needed my help to convince Henry the mansion is haunted. Henry's prank involved me, too. Then they each started talking to me about future jokes, and I realized what my life and home might be like when Henry moves to New York and they're constantly trying to outdo each other. The cycle of practical jokes could be endless."

"Oh, my," said Angela. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"Of course not. However, I sought out advice from an expert about how to nip an endless spiral of jokes in the bud."

Angela nodded and finally noticed the bowls. She'd carried in four bowls, enough for June and the three cousins. Why had June also brought four bowls?

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The walk with Bugsy started in silence. It wasn't until they turned around to return to the mansion that Neal sighed and said, "I have a confession to make."

"Yeah, me too, kiddo." Henry picked up Bugsy and held him against his chest, as if he were seeking comfort. "I had an epic April Fool's Day joke lined up, and it fell to pieces. I can't remember the last time I crashed and burned like that."

"Me, too," said Neal. "I was sure that Angela and I would get the best of you. I even had Mozzie on my crew, and pulled in Peter at the last minute."

"I had Joe, although he didn't realize his part. Just his being here added legitimacy to what I had in mind. And of course June was on my crew."

"And mine," Neal said. He paused. "You don't suppose she purposely tanked both schemes?"

"She certainly had a hand in it. But the way she got into my head like that, and exposed my fears about this move, I gotta think she had an accomplice." He nuzzled the puppy, then chuckled and pulled away when it started licking his face.

"You know I'm here for you, whenever you want company. We'll go out for meals and drinks and concerts and stuff. But I don't think you really want a roommate any more than I do. We both like to stake out our own space, not to mention having privacy for overnight dates."

"You got that right," said Henry. "Besides that, I know you hog all the hot water."

Neal rolled his eyes. "No more than you hog the bathroom in the morning doing your hair. How many products do you use? I've never seen anyone else with short hair take so long to style it."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter, El and their guests slipped in through the back, and were eating sundaes with June and Angela when Neal and Henry returned. Peter smiled in relief to hear Neal and Henry sounding like their cheerful selves again. They were laughing and bickering as they entered the mansion and removed the Pug's leash.

Bugsy scampered over to June, but the young men grew silent and stared when they saw the newcomers.

Henry crossed his arms and looked stern. "The gang's all here, then. I see each of the April Fool's Day culprits except for Mozzie. Is he still hiding upstairs?"

"No," June replied. "When I told him the haunting was over, he sulked and went home."

Neal matched Henry's stance. "Once the two of us finally had a moment alone to confer, we figured out we were both the victims of the same prank. We have a good idea what happened, but as long as you're all here, why don't you fill in the blanks?"

"When you asked for my help in your schemes, I realized what I was in for when you both live in the same city," June said. "I needed to get the upper hand, or I'd be living in chaos."

Joe Burke spoke up. "June asked for my architectural services, and wanted the Vasquez brothers to give her a bid for updating the kitchen."

"When Horatio arrived I took him aside and explained the ruse about the loft," June added. "When Joe arrived Henry was on hand, so I didn't have time to fill him in before I led them all upstairs, but his honest reactions were best, anyway."

"Meanwhile I'm immensely relieved that the kitchen is the only real project," Joe said.

"June also lent a hand with the haunting," Angela added. "Mozzie arranged the cold spots and used the CD of advice Byron made for Neal to supply the voice."

Neal nodded. "Mozzie set up the cold spots yesterday, and I was dashing down to the study every couple of hours to play Mozzie's recording. As a result, this morning I was too tired to catch on to the fact that June was complicit in Henry's prank."

"I was more awake than Neal," Peter said. "When I came here for lunch I realized that June had her own con going, and I advised Joe to follow her lead until we could figure out her goal."

"It didn't take me long to realize that June had an accomplice," Joe explained. "Someone who knew Neal and Henry well enough to get into their heads and stop them in their tracks."

Henry turned his scowl toward Joe's new wife. "Mom."

Noelle smiled. "It's amazing how often the younger generation forgets they weren't the first to think of things. My siblings and I played pranks on each other that would make your hair stand on end. Fortunately my mother usually caught on before we did anything dangerous. Now it's my turn to bring a little sanity to the situation. You both needed to come to grips with what Henry's move to New York means to your friendship. It's more than just a chance to play tricks and inconvenience June. I simply gave her a little advice to help defuse the situation, so you'd both step back and think."

"I never really intended to move in," Henry objected. "The real estate agent I saw today specializes in commercial properties, but tomorrow another agent from her firm is showing me apartments. I'm —" He stopped when Neal put a hand on his shoulder.

"Say _Thanks, Mom_ ," advised Neal. "If she thinks we haven't learned our lesson, we could be in for a second round."

Henry took a deep breath. "Thanks, Mom." He looked around the room. "Is there any chocolate left?"

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

As they ate their ice cream, Henry leaned over toward Neal and said, "You explained the cold spots and the voice, but what about the suit?"

"What suit?" Neal sounded like he had no idea what Henry was talking about.

"You know those shelves in the closet, the ones Byron built? Well when I first pulled in my suitcase and started hanging up my clothes last night, there was one of his vintage suits folded on that top shelf, with a fedora on top. In the morning when I went in there to grab something to wear, the suit and fedora were gone. That freaked me out more than anything else."

"That wasn't anything I did. You want me to check with Mozzie? It could be an addition that Angela or June suggested."

"Nah, it doesn't matter," Henry said. But that night when he returned to the guest room, he stepped into the closet and looked around. No more cold spot, he was glad to note, but he didn't see how Mozzie could have removed the suit. He didn't discover any hidden wires or secret doors. He wanted to keep looking, but he couldn't stay up all night. He had commitments on Saturday. He was looking at apartments in the morning, and in the afternoon Neal and Angela had a plan in mind to teach him some French phrases before his next business trip to Paris.

Humming the _Ghostbusters_ theme song he muttered, " _I ain't 'fraid of no ghost_ ," and closed the closet door.

He absolutely, positively did not hear Byron chuckle.

 _A/N:_

 _Clearly I've been influenced by the advertising for the new Ghostbusters movie and need to see it. I've also been influenced by reading Silbrith's upcoming story: Whispers in the Night. It's a crossover between the White Collar Caffrey Conversation AU and the show Supernatural. She'll start posting it in a few days, and you need to see what happens when Peter — who doesn't believe in ghosts or other supernatural phenomena — runs into demon hunters who frequently impersonate FBI agents. Neal will have his hands full keeping the peace._

 _My thanks as usual to Silbrith for being a fantastic beta and overall cheerleader to keep me motivated. She had several great suggestions for this chapter._

 _I'm not sure what the next vignette will be about. Let me know if you have suggestions!_

 **About the characters, and references to other stories:**

In addition to the canon characters, in this chapter we have Henry and Angela as Neal's cousins. Angela is younger than Neal, and attends college in New York. Henry is older than Neal, and works for a private investigation firm in Baltimore. Noelle is Henry's mother, a professor of psychology in Baltimore. Joe is an architect and Peter's older brother. Fiona is Neal's girlfriend. Janet is Mozzie's girlfriend. Michael is Angela's boyfriend. The Vasquez family is relatively new to the AU; they've been mentioned only briefly in Caffrey Aloha, but will be appearing again in Silbrith's upcoming stories.

Choirboy Caffrey: Michael Darling thinks Neal's arrival was a Christmas miracle (chapter 4), Neal calls Henry a force of chaos (chapter 7)

By the Book: Henry wants to open a branch of Winston-Winslow in NYC (chapter 14), Neal doesn't want a roommate & Henry teases him about using all the hot water (chapter 16)

Caffrey Flashback: June gives Neal the CD from Byron (chapter 32)

The Queen's Jewels: Mozzie's belief in the paranormal/supernatural (chapter 7)

An Evening with Genji: Mozzie offers Neal relationship advice (chapter 2)

Caffrey Aloha: Neal's bathroom and El's kitchen are remodeled, Neal realizes Angela is bossy (chapter 1), Mozzie interrupts the bachelor party (chapter 2), Noelle and Joe get married (chapter 3)

The Dreamer: Neal struggles in his Computational Art class (chapter 5) Neal suggests Angela could get a job at the Aloha Emporium (chapter 6), Mozzie is invited to join a SETI meeting (chapter 7), Peter tells Neal about the Bigfoot prank (chapter 18)

The Mirror: Neal's girlfriend is offered an assignment in Paris (chapter 3)

Caffrey Vignettes chapter 1: Henry dunks Neal and Angela in the lake; Henry doesn't like ghost stories

Caffrey Vignettes chapter 2: June adopts Bugsy

Whispers in the Night (to be published by Silbrith in a few days): Mozzie takes Janet on a romantic getaway (chapter 1)

 _See my profile here and "The Penna Nomen and Silbrith Conversation" blog for more about the CC AU._

 _See the Caffrey Conversation AU Pinterest board for pictures of the characters, and the Caffrey Vignettes board for pins specific to these chapters._


	4. Chapter 4 - Homecoming

_A/N: This chapter overlaps slightly with Raphael's Dragon by Silbrith. I'll keep spoilers to a minimum in case you haven't read it yet. In our timeline, we're approaching Mother's Day, 2005, and that's when most of this story takes place. It's an emotional time for Neal, as it has been many years since he has celebrated a Mother's Day, and you'll find that Neal is often quiet, taking in the events around him._

 _See the end of the chapter for info about the non-canon characters, and references to other stories in the AU in case you want to catch up or refresh your memory about past events._

 **New York Presbyterian Hospital. Tuesday evening. May 3, 2005.**

Neal Caffrey was grumpy.

He tried reminding himself that he was a valued member of the FBI's White Collar team, a graduate student at an exclusive university, a skilled artist and musician, a _bon vivant_.Being grumpy didn't fit his image.

But the fact remained that after being poisoned a few days ago, he was stuck in a hospital. His last visitors had left half an hour ago, and even though it was only early evening it seemed that he was expected to go to sleep. As if he hadn't been sleeping for nearly a full day. Grumpiness seemed warranted.

The room was dim, because the poison temporarily made his eyes overly sensitive to light. A book light cast a small pool of brightness where Neal's cousin Henry Winslow was reading a bright yellow hardcover book. And scowling at it.

Neal couldn't even read the title. Grump, grump.

And the soup he'd had for a ridiculously early dinner wasn't nearly satisfying. He might starve to death here. Grump, grump.

Suddenly Henry chuckled.

Grump, grump. Grr.

"Did you growl?" Henry asked.

"No," Neal said. The last thing he wanted was to remind Henry that their grandmother had nicknamed him _Baby Bear_ because of the way he'd growled as a baby when unhappy. "What are you reading?"

Henry looked like he wanted to evade, but took in Neal's expression and said, " _The Clue of the Broken Locket_ , by Carolyn Keene."

Neal had a feeling that he should recognize the name, but it didn't sound familiar. "A mystery?" he asked. Henry came from a long line of detectives. Solving mysteries was his job, and therefore he wasn't one to read them for pleasure.

"Tell you what. Let's order snacks, and I'll read it to you."

Yep, Henry was being evasive. Interesting. That meant this wasn't simply a random book the hospital kept on hand for bored visitors. "Sure," Neal said. Hearing the story would break the boredom, and once he knew what it was about perhaps he could guess why Henry had selected it.

After Henry called in the order for food, he turned back to the first page of the book and started reading aloud.

He didn't finish the first sentence before Neal interrupted, "A Nancy Drew mystery?"

"Hush," Henry said, and he kept reading. In high school he'd participated in a school play and discovered a love of drama. Now he made up voices for the different characters and even stood up and gestured as if he were playing all of the parts in a one-man performance of the story.

Only a few pages into it, Neal interrupted again. "Henry Winch, the cowardly boat purveyor from Maryland. No way." The coincidence of the book being read by Henry Winslow, avid sailor from Baltimore was too crazy.

Henry lowered the book. "Not my favorite aspect, but just you wait. I'm told there's a Neal in this story, too. And it's even spelled right, N-E-A-L." He returned to his dramatic reading of the story, pausing only briefly when the snacks arrived. You could tell Henry was really into something when it caused him to ignore food.

Neal found himself drawn into the story and it was several chapters later when he interrupted again, laughing this time. "No way! There's a pop singer in this story? And he's being cheated out of his money? That's not really a Nancy Drew mystery, is it? You're making this story up, tossing in our names and references to the Masterson Music fraud we exposed last year."

Putting the book aside, Henry sat down again. "Right? That's what I thought when I started reading it — that it was a joke. But it's the real deal."

"Where did you get this book?"

Henry checked his watch. "That's a story for another day. Any minute now a nurse is going to stop by to check on you and to tell us it's 'quiet time.' No way you'll be quiet for the tale of how I got the book."

Neal smiled. His earlier grumpiness had faded away, and he was willing to wait to get the truth out of Henry. "Fine. Then keep reading to me, quietly."

Staying seated and keeping his voice low, Henry kept reading. Neal let himself drift to sleep.

 **Neal's loft. Thursday afternoon. May 5, 2005.**

Neal Caffrey was home. He'd actually been released from the hospital yesterday, but the last twenty-four hours had been filled with so many visitors and revelations about cases that he was just now starting to feel back to normal. There was something about being home that let him put down his guard and relax.

He picked up the yellow book Henry had left on the sofa, and paged through it. As hard as it was to believe, the story really did include a singer seeking justice, and characters named Henry and Neal, as well as a mysterious young woman seeking the home of her ancestors. The reading aloud had continued during the rare slow moments on Wednesday, and they'd reached the midpoint of the novel. Being read to had been kind of nice, but Neal was relieved to find that his eyes had recovered to the point that he could read the words himself.

Footsteps pounded on the stairs — Henry running up with the lunch they'd ordered. "One gourmet pizza," he announced as he entered the loft. Then he paused to catch his breath. "Have I mentioned how happy I am that my new apartment building has an elevator?"

"It means I'll always be in better shape than you." Neal took the pizza box and carried it to the table. He waited until they'd each eaten a slice and then said, "Time for the truth about why you were reading that book."

Henry reached for a second slice of pizza. "We're on a mission, and that book is supposed to inspire us."

"Should I get my sword?" Neal asked, because they'd been discussing _The Three Musketeers_ earlier.

"Not that kind of mission." Henry bit into his pizza. He took a swig from a canned soft drink and then added, "A Mother's Day mission."

Neal blinked. In all the chaos, he'd forgotten that Mother's Day was this weekend. He and Henry were supposed to drive down to Baltimore Friday evening, to spend the weekend with Noelle and her new husband, Joe. This was the first Mother's Day since Neal had learned that Noelle had acted as a surrogate for her twin sister. So while Meredith had officially and legally been his mother and had raised him, Noelle was listed as the mother on his birth certificate.

"Listen, if you're not up to this, she'll understand," Henry said. "You just got out of the hospital, and if a road trip sounds like too much —"

"Shut up and tell me about the mission," Neal interrupted.

"Joe learned that Mom's favorite stories as a young girl were the Nancy Drew mysteries. Since they're overcrowded living in her townhouse, the best Mother's Day gift would be something they don't have to find space for. He thought she might enjoy solving a mystery, instead. He's got the core of an idea, but he's an amateur."

Neal nodded. He and Henry solved mysteries for a living, working for the FBI and for private investigation firm Winston-Winslow. Joe Burke was an architect.

"Joe called Elizabeth," Henry continued. Joe was Peter's older brother, making El his sister-in-law. "He asked if she could suggest a mystery for us to read, to get us into the right mindset. We're supposed to help him plant clues."

Neal glanced at the book on the sofa. "And that's the one El suggested."

"She said it had been forever since she'd read the stories, but she read the synopsis online and thought we'd relate to this one the best. I have to hand it to her. Characters with our names. A case involving music. She couldn't have picked better." He explained Joe's intended surprise and ideas for turning it into a mystery.

Soon they were lobbing ideas back and forth to expand the mystery, until finally Henry grabbed a sheet of paper and started writing them down. Neal became energized, and realized how much the worry about coursework and recent White Collar cases had been getting to him. He needed to take breaks for fun, he reminded himself. And as he was on medical leave for the rest of the week, he asked, "Would it be easier to implement this plan if we left now?"

"An extra day? Sure. If you think you're up to an adventure, pack a bag and we'll stop by my place on our way out of town. We can call Joe from the car to let him know what we have in mind."

Neal waited until he was mostly packed to say, "You realize this makes you Bess, right?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Noelle is Nancy Drew. That's the point of all this. George and Bess are her accomplices. They're cousins, like us. George is taller, with dark hair, and more athletic. And besides that, _George_ is my middle name. Bess has lighter hair, loves food and is a little more…" He patted his midsection. "A little heavier than George. That makes you Bess." He picked up his bag and walked out.

Henry followed him down the stairs, protesting, "No, that isn't how it works. George and Bess help solve the mystery. We're the culprits in this. Joe's accomplices. There's a Henry and a Neal in the story. I'm willing to bet Henry Winch is the mastermind. That scaredy-cat bit of his is an act."

"Total red herring," Neal countered. "Anyone can tell Neal Raskin is behind everything. You know, I kinda like that name. Maybe I can use it as an alias someday."

 **Noelle's office, Loyola University. Friday afternoon. May 6, 2005.**

Her final lecture of the week completed, Noelle returned to her office. Time to pack up and go home, where she'd prepare for the arrival of… "Henry!"

He was sitting at her desk. He closed the textbook he was perusing and said, "Hi, Mom. The sign says you don't have office hours this afternoon, but I thought you might make an exception for me."

"Of course." She put down her notes from the lecture and gave Henry a mild shove. He took the hint and vacated her chair. "I didn't expect you until tonight." She hugged her son and then glanced around before sitting. "Did Neal stay in New York?" She'd told herself all day she wouldn't be surprised if he decided to stay home this weekend. He'd just gotten out of the hospital, after all. But she couldn't shake a sense of disappointment.

Henry settled into one of the guest chairs. "Neal had the day off, so we left early. He's hanging out with Joe, and I wanted to talk to you about something before we kick off the weekend." He took a breath before continuing. "Over the last few days, I've been thinking about home, you know? Neal wanting to go home from the hospital. Me establishing a new home with the move to New York. Coming here this weekend to my hometown. Neal doesn't have that, you know? With WITSEC and everything, if someone asks what his hometown is, he can't tell them it's St. Louis. It's not like he has great memories from there, anyway. Even now, with the loft… Don't get me wrong. It's a great loft. I know he loves living there, and June is like family. But there's almost nothing there that's his. The furniture came with the loft. The suits belonged to Byron." He ran his hands through his hair. "I just wish, when this weekend is over and I drive him back home, that he really understands what it means to have a home."

"All that, in one weekend?"

"You've got the fancy PhD in psychology."

She nodded. "Maybe it's time…" She'd been putting this off too long, she reminded herself. She'd planned to tell Henry about it this weekend, anyway. "Time to talk about The House."

 **Noelle's townhouse, Baltimore, MD. Friday afternoon. May 6, 2005.**

"The House?" Neal repeated.

"Yeah, you can hear the capital letters," Joe Burke told him. "That's always how Noelle refers to the place she and Robert moved into when they got married. She hasn't been back since the divorce, and neither has Henry as far as I can tell."

Neal did the math. "Twelve years."

"Robert kept the house in the divorce, but they'd paid off the mortgage together. It was in both of their names. When he died last summer, ownership transferred to her. His parents sorted through his belongings, and then she hired a service to take care of the lawn and dust the interior. She has some ideas for remodeling, but each time we're supposed to go there to look at the space, something comes up and I end up going alone. It's obvious she's avoiding going back there."

"Why remodel it?"

Joe glanced around the townhouse but simply said, "That's Noelle's announcement to make. She's been working her way up to telling Henry, and I've been encouraging her to talk to him about it this weekend."

Neal nodded. It wasn't hard to guess. Joe had moved here from Albany when the couple married, because in his job he could be more flexible with his location. The townhouse Noelle bought during the divorce had two bedrooms, one for her and one for Henry. Now the second bedroom served as Joe's office, and his desk and file cabinets dwarfed the small space. The couple didn't have a room for guests, although they'd made it clear that they wanted Neal and Henry and Joe's daughters to visit. Robert's house was larger and more practical for their needs.

 **Noelle's office, Loyola University. Friday afternoon. May 6, 2005.**

Henry stared at his mother across her desk. He hadn't expected her to mention The House. He hadn't been there in ages. Even though he'd lived in Noelle's townhouse only one year, that was the place he thought of as home, he realized. Home wasn't a place. Or it was more than a place. It was love and safety, and for as long as he could remember, that meant his mother.

He considered the surprise they had planned for his mother this weekend… Had Joe selected The House as the setting for the first clue because he knew she'd been thinking about it? "What do we need to discuss about The House?" he asked.

"Not yet. I'd rather wait until we're with Neal and Joe, so you all hear it together. It will help, I think, with your plan. We can open up to Neal about the concept of home, and hear his thoughts." She paused and then added, "I'm glad to help you with that, but I wonder, could you also help me with something, while you're here?"

"Anything. Just name it."

"There's something Joe's keeping from me."

Henry raised a brow. "He's not the type to cheat."

"No, nothing like that. It's something he wants to tell me, but he keeps shying away. For whatever reason, he's nervous about it."

"You want me to find out what it is?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't want to learn it behind his back. I thought you might convince him to tell me."

Well, this was interesting. It seemed Nancy Drew had already noticed that there was a mystery to solve. That should make this weekend's plans easier, unless she went and solved the mystery too soon.

"That's a devious smile. Should I be worried?"

Henry stood up. "Not at all. You've just made this weekend even more fun than I expected. Let's go catch up with Joe and Neal. Who knows what kind of mischief they're up to."

Noelle rose and picked up her purse. "You think you can convince Joe to tell me his secret?"

Putting his arm around her, Henry strolled down the hall with her and said, "You'll know it before the weekend is over. I promise."

 **The House, Baltimore, MD. Friday evening. May 6, 2005.**

"So this is where you grew up?" Neal looked around the house, and it didn't seem ominous enough to merit capital letters. The exterior was colonial in style, and he would guess that had been Robert's choice. He'd been the type to go for an old-money look. It was much larger than the townhouse, certainly more space than the newlywed Robert and Noelle could have afforded on his salary as a cop and hers as a teaching assistant when she was earning her PhD. Robert's parents had made a generous down payment as a wedding gift to the couple. The interior was dark, more so than he would have expected given Noelle's tastes. If he had to guess, he'd say Robert picked the carpet and paint colors, and some of the lighter, more playful accessories were Noelle's choices.

"Yeah." Henry stood in the living room, studying the space intently. "It seemed massive then. I'm still remembering how it felt when I was a little kid. Does it jog any memories for you?"

Neal shook his head. He knew he'd been here when he was three years old, but nothing looked familiar.

Noelle wandered through rooms, occasionally running her hand fondly over a piece of furniture. Then she stopped in one room and sighed.

"Is this where you kept it?" Joe asked.

She nodded. "Robert might have moved it, or even gotten rid of it. But I'd hoped it would still be here."

"What are you looking for?" Neal asked.

"A dark oak roll-top desk. I bought it when I finished my degree, and it was the one piece of furniture that was all mine. When I moved out I knew it was too big to fit into the townhouse, and I was in a hurry to leave, anyway. But I thought maybe now I could get it back."

"I'll check the other rooms," Neal volunteered. He wouldn't mind escaping the emotions spilling over from Noelle and Henry. He simply didn't get being so wrought over a house. It was just a building. He strode through the rooms, starting with the bedrooms and ending in the kitchen. There were no roll-top desks to be seen, but he did stop short when he saw the kitchen cabinets. He opened a door next to the oven and pulled out a pot. He turned it over and saw the _Revere Ware_ stamp on the copper bottom. _This…_

"I remember this," said Henry, who'd followed when Neal didn't return from the kitchen. "On your last visit here, we pulled these out of the cabinet."

" _You_ pulled them out," Neal corrected.

"Every last one I owned," Noelle added with a smile as she entered the room.

"And I showed you how to play them." Henry sat down, pulled another pot out of the cabinet, and set it upside down on the floor. "These made great drums." He started beating a rhythm on the two pots.

"Henry, really," his mother protested. "You're not five anymore."

"Yeah, play them on the countertop like an adult," Neal suggested.

Noelle huffed in an attempt not to laugh. "Enough. Put them away. I brought you here to talk about something."

Henry complied, but with a put upon expression that Neal suspected was a ruse to keep Noelle laughing. She'd seemed too sad once they'd entered this house. Both of them were sad, and they were making Joe glum, too.

Once they were seated in the living room, Noelle looked at them and said, "I have a confession to make. A couple of confessions, in fact. The first is that the townhouse simply isn't right for Joe and me. We need more space. I'd thought the answer was to remodel this house, to give us each a home office and still have space for guests. I talked to Joe about the layout, and how I thought we might update this space to seem more open, but — and here comes the second confession — I could never make myself come here with him to review the plans." She sighed. "I thought that by coming here today, I'd be able to stare down the ghosts of my first marriage and make peace with this place, but I'm sorry, Joe." She looked at her husband. "I know a remodel would do wonders, but I simply don't want to live here again."

"I suspected as much," Joe said. "When a client actively avoids a space, that's never a good sign. I still want to do some updating here. I think it would sell quickly if we made a few of the changes we discussed."

Noelle nodded. "I'd like that. It can be a good home for another family."

"What about," Henry gestured broadly, "all of Dad's stuff?"

"A massive garage sale is in my future, I suspect. Some of it I may give away. Was there anything you wanted to keep, sweetheart?"

Neal spoke up. "Looks like Robert didn't change much after the divorce. One of the bedrooms definitely belongs to a teenager."

"He believed we'd come back one day," Henry said. "He always thought Mom would regret the divorce. I can't think of anything I'd want that I didn't take with me when I was sixteen, but I'll take a look." He stood up and took a couple of steps, but then stopped. "I remember that desk Mom described. Did you find it?"

Neal shook his head. "No sign of it."

"Well, one sign," Joe corrected. "You can see where it used to be. The cleaning crew comes in once a month and they vacuum the whole house, but the carpet is still matted down from a heavy desk sitting on it. The desk hasn't been gone very long."

"That's odd," said Noelle. "Other than the maid service, no one's been here but Robert's parents. I said they could take anything they wanted, but they each already had desks. Why would they want it? And if they wanted to give it away, why not take other furniture, too?"

"Maybe it had been damaged?" Neal guessed.

"Not that desk," Henry insisted. "It survived my childhood. I crawled up and over every table and desk in this house, and I think it's the only one that didn't have to be replaced. That thing was _solid_."

Noelle smiled. "It had lots of little drawers and slots. I loved them, and I understood Henry's fascination with them. I always made sure to close the top and lock it when I was done working, so he wouldn't make a mess."

Henry grinned. "When I got older, I learned how to pick the lock. The key was more an ornament than a security device. Man, was I disappointed the drawers only held paperclips and office supplies."

"I hate to imagine what you thought I stored in there. Truth be told, both the desk and I were showing wear by the time I left. I went blonde, and if I'd taken the desk with me, I'd have refinished…" she trailed off. "My in-laws know how much I loved that desk. I even mentioned it before they went through the house last fall. What if they decided to refinish it?"

"As a birthday gift?" Neal suggested. "Did they know that you and Joe want to move into a bigger space?"

"Yes! I told Julia that I hoped we'd be out of the townhouse by the end of the year, and that's near my birthday."

"You want me to ask Pops?" Henry offered.

"No," Noelle said. "Don't bother him. If it's meant to be a birthday surprise, I don't want to spoil their fun. If they did something else with it, it's their right. I told them to take anything they wanted."

Henry agreed and then dashed off to his old bedroom to see if there was anything he wanted to claim.

"You hate the house?" Neal asked.

"No, not hate. It makes me… sad. Yes, I think that's right. I have some lovely memories here, including you and Henry using my pots as drums — but don't tell him I said that! But there was so much potential that went wasted, so much disappointment that led to the divorce. Too many memories of Robert. It wouldn't be fair to Joe to move in here."

"Thanks," said Joe. "I wasn't looking forward to living here, not when it became clear it was still haunted by your divorce."

"What about the townhouse? I mean, will you be sad to leave?"

Noelle shook her head at Neal. "I'll take happy memories with me, but those are my past. Moving forward in my life with Joe is even happier." She clasped her husband's hand. "What about you, Joe? Any regrets about leaving the house where you raised your girls?"

"I like the way you put it. It was a good house and I enjoyed living there, but I took the memories with me when I left." Joe put an arm around Noelle. "And I get how you're feeling about the desk. It was easier saying goodbye to my home in Albany because I could bring some of my stuff with me. There's a comfort in that. You make a place a home by making it your own." He chuckled. "But the townhouse is bursting at the seams with both of us nesting there. I'm glad you're ready to move on."

Before Noelle could reply, Henry returned with a lumpy pillowcase slung over one shoulder and a newspaper in his other arm.

"Santa Claus?" Neal asked.

"Found a couple of things I want to take. A book, a toy, and an awesome pair of sneakers I somehow missed packing when we left. And can you believe the newspaper I was reading the day we left was still on my bed? Time for that to go in the recycle bin. Are we ready to go?"

"Yes," Noelle said. "I've spent all the time I need to."

They followed Henry out through the garage, where he opened the recycle bin and tossed the newspaper at it. Most of the newspaper went in, but several fliers fluttered down to the floor. Neal and Noelle both leaned down to pick them up. Neal grabbed the grocery fliers, and let Noelle take the one for an open house.

Her eyes locked on the picture of the house. "How beautiful," she said.

"Hmm?" Joe moved to look over her shoulder. "I see some Frank Lloyd Wright influence. Arts and Crafts style, also known as Craftsman."

"My favorite," she said. "Colonial was Robert's preference."

Henry sidled over to take a look. "That neighborhood's near the university, isn't it?"

"That's right. Several professors live there."

"Maybe that's where you should look for your next place," Henry suggested.

"Oh, I'd love to, but it's rare to find a home for sale there. People tend to settle into that area for the long haul, and when you do see a _for sale_ sign, it's usually turned into a _sold_ sign a few days later."

"We can look for this style in another neighborhood," Joe said.

Noelle tossed the flier into the bin. "We'll find someplace perfect for us. We just have to be patient."

 **Noelle's townhouse, Baltimore, MD. Friday evening. May 6, 2005.**

As everyone traipsed into the townhouse, Henry stopped in the entryway to pull a key from the key hanger. "You still have my old apartment key."

"Hey, you're blocking the path," Neal complained. It was true, and he thought Henry was rushing things.

Henry carried the key with him and plopped down on the sofa. Noelle asked if they wanted anything to drink, and Joe carried bottles of beer for himself and Henry, while Noelle brought water for herself and Neal.

To keep the topic away from the key a while longer, Neal said, "Joe, your parents moved to their current house when you were what, fourteen?"

"Early teens," Joe confirmed. "Let me guess. You want to know if I missed my old home?" He took a swig of the beer. "What I missed most about the old place was the neighborhood. I had a lot of good friends there, and I wasn't thrilled about leaving them behind, even if I was still going to see them at school. One thing that helped was my folks let me customize my room. I picked the paint color, and Mom dragged me along to shop for bedding. And I had my stuff, you know, posters of my favorite actors and singers, books and whatnot."

Neal laughed. "You just described what I saw in Henry's old room. Weird paint color, covered by posters and books and whatnot. You've got more in common than I thought."

Henry reached forward to give Joe a fist bump. Then he leaned back and said, "And your room in your teens was any different?"

He hadn't thought about his childhood bedroom in ages, but Neal brought back the image in his mind. "My posters mostly featured famous art, and Mom wasn't…" He looked askance at Noelle. He was here for Mother's Day with her, but he'd spent a lifetime thinking of Meredith as his mother.

"Oh, sweetie." Noelle put an arm around him for a quick hug. "Meredith will always be your mother. Don't be afraid to call her your mom. You know lots of kids out there have more than one mom. Just think, Henry has a second father now with Joe."

Neal cleared his throat. "Yeah. Thanks." He took a sip of his water. "Anyway, all the walls in the house were beige for as long as I remember."

"No wonder you turned to art," Henry said. "You had to get some color in your life."

"Good point," Neal said with a chuckle. Now he deemed it safe to turn the conversation in the direction his cousin wanted. "I can't say your apartment here in Baltimore screamed _Henry_."

"True enough. I went to a furniture store and said I wanted modern stuff that went together. Over time I added things that were more personal, but you're right. What I actually brought to New York was only what fit in my car. The rest I sold and barely remember."

"Are you taking the same approach this time?" Noelle asked.

"Nah. I'm making a home this time. It takes forever to pick out the perfect pieces, but it all feels more _mine_ , for lack of a better word. And I invested in a large painting by an up-and-coming new artist."

Neal was almost sure he didn't blush. "He insisted on being the first person to purchase a Neal Caffrey original."

Noelle had attended the event at Columbia where the graduate art students displayed their work, and she guessed which painting had caught Henry's eye.

"Speaking of catching my eye…" Henry tossed the key in the air and caught it. "Why did you keep the key to a place where I no longer live?"

"We're not the only ones thinking of moving," Noelle explained. "Your Winslow grandparents decided that their house is too big for them now that they're getting older. They want something smaller, and all on one level."

"But a one-bedroom apartment?" Henry protested. "They'd never make that adjustment."

"No," Joe agreed, "but a three-bedroom condo with a den and expansive kitchen might do the trick."

"The building's going condo, right," Henry said. "That announcement was one of the things that spurred me on to make the move to New York."

"Knowing that your unit was vacant, Graham and Julia bought it and the one next to it. They asked me to consult with a construction crew first," Joe explained. "I drew up two options for what the combined apartments could look like, and they decided to go with the second option. Construction begins next month."

"I thought you did mostly commercial architecture," Neal commented.

"My first love is old civic buildings, especially museums, and I've done a lot with art galleries. I'm seeing more combined spaces, where artists can live and work. When Graham and Julia asked me to recommend an architect for their condo, I thought it would be good practice for me to work on a residence again, so I volunteered to do the initial renderings and then got them in touch with a firm who could work out all the details for them."

"That's why you have the key?" Henry asked.

"Right. I volunteered to check in on the project occasionally. I'm sure Graham will, too, but I think Julia wanted a professional looking in."

Neal decided it was time to lead Noelle to the next clue. "So it's just sitting empty now?"

"Mostly," Joe said. "They mentioned they were going to keep some things there until construction started."

"Why would they move something there, only to move it out again when the construction begins?" Noelle wondered. "Unless… Unless it was something they didn't want visitors to their house to see."

"You think you've solved the desk mystery?" Joe asked.

"Possibly. If they wanted to refinish it for a December birthday, there isn't any rush. They might have wanted to store it someplace out of sight until an expert had the time to start the project."

"What do you say we check it out tomorrow?" Henry suggested. "After breakfast, of course."

 **Henry's old apartment, Baltimore, MD. Saturday afternoon. May 7, 2005.**

"Whoa," said Henry when he opened the door to his former apartment. The flooring had been pulled up, with a stack of hardwood planks in a corner probably being saved for reuse later. The kitchen had been torn out, and the wall between the two apartments was demolished. The effect was almost disorienting. They'd spent the morning giving Neal a tour of the university where Noelle taught, and had stopped for lunch on their way here. He'd taken the opportunity to stuff himself with Maryland's famous blue crab, but now Henry's stomach was churning.

He walked to the windows. "If not for the view, I wouldn't recognize this place."

Noelle followed and glanced at Joe. "I thought you said the construction didn't start until next month?"

"That was the original schedule. Graham said he wanted to push that up if he could. Looks like he got his wish."

"Why the rush?" Neal asked.

Henry was wondering the same thing. It was weird to think of his grandparents living anywhere but the home they'd owned since before he was born. They were so active and vibrant that he'd been taken aback last night about the comment that they were getting older. Did one of them have a serious health issue?

The extra day to plan this con — _mystery_ , he corrected himself. The extra day hadn't been enough. There was too much background information that Joe hadn't shared. If this was only a con of some stranger maybe it wouldn't matter, but these were people he loved, and he was too much in the dark. If they ever planned another mystery, he'd take over and run it himself.

Noelle placed a comforting hand on his back, which meant he'd slipped and let his feelings show. "Is something wrong, sweetheart?"

He shrugged as he struggled for something to say. "I honestly can't imagine them living here."

She smiled at him. "When you see them moved in with their furniture, it will feel more natural. Looking at it now, it's hard to imagine anyone living here. I hope your place in New York was more finished when you moved in."

"It had good bones. At least that's what Eric said," Henry explained, referring to the architect Joe had recommended. "There's still work going on, but nothing this extreme. The big project is the new office space I leased for Win-Win." He turned his attention to Joe, "Getting back to Neal's question, why the rush here?"

"Two factors, I think. First is Julia's involvement. You know she took the lead in the design of their sailboat?"

Henry nodded.

"Once she reviewed the details of what I was proposing here, she dove in headfirst. Her love of math took over and she was calculating the ideal layout for the kitchen, the exact sizes of the rooms to best fit their furniture, and so on. She was developing some kind of mathematical theory behind it all, and the more she got into it, the more eager she was to see her formulas translated into the physical space. And then there's your grandfather." Now Joe looked a little sheepish.

"What about Pops?"

"A few weeks ago I introduced him to a couple I'd met through another of my projects. Recent transplants to Baltimore, they're living in an apartment while they look for the perfect house. They have a lot of kids and need a big space. Your grandparents' home would be perfect for them, but they're under a time crunch. They need to move into their new home in less than six months. After he met them, Graham asked me if this project could be finished by then."

"Can it?" Noelle asked.

"In theory, if the crew doesn't split their time on other projects, I could see it being done in five months. Honestly, I introduced the couple to Graham because I thought he might know of another house in his neighborhood that was for sale or going on the market soon. I met Graham at the wedding, but most of what I knew about him came from Peter's descriptions of interactions between Win-Win and the FBI. He called Graham shrewd, smart, hard-nosed, and an expert negotiator. I didn't expect your ex-father-in-law to turn into a marshmallow when he met this couple."

That made Henry grin. "That's Pops. Did he offer to move out of the house and live in the sailboat if this condo isn't ready before the family needs to move?"

"Not yet," Joe said. Then he grinned back. "Maybe your grandparents will want to stay at your place instead. How would you like some houseguests for a few weeks? Or months? Construction projects are notorious for delays."

"Right. Can I lend a hand here this weekend, to help the crew stay on schedule?"

Joe patted Henry on the back. "I'll let you know if they fall behind."

It was a nice moment of bonding, but Henry couldn't help noticing how quiet Neal had been. "You okay, kiddo?"

"I don't see the desk anywhere, but there's an area where the floor is less dusty then everywhere else," he said.

Neal was sticking to the script, and Henry couldn't count how many times he'd wished for Neal to do that during schemes over the years. Now that he was finally following the plan, it was worrying.

Noelle walked over to take a look. "That's the size I remember the desk being." She turned around, studying the floor. "Those tracks look like they were made by wheels. Something was here, and then recently was picked up and loaded onto a cart." She followed the tracks, until they disappeared beneath the footprints they'd left when they entered. "Rolled out and taken away." She returned to where Neal was standing and crouched to lift a beige piece of cloth that was crumpled on the floor. "This looks like a dust cover that might have been over the desk when it was stored here. Oh, look!" She picked up an ornamental brass key that had been hidden by the cloth. She stood and handed it to Neal.

"Do you recognize it?" he asked.

"Yes. It looks exactly like the key to my desk. I'm certain my desk was here. The key was probably in the lock and fell out when they moved it."

"We're on the right track, then," Joe said. "You're right about your in-laws storing the desk here recently to keep it out of sight. With the construction starting they needed to move it out of the way. It could be in a storage facility, or with whoever they hired to refinish it."

"If we were in New York we could take the key to the FBI to run the fingerprints." Neal shrugged. "We've kind of contaminated the evidence, though."

"We could run the prints at Win-Win," Henry suggested, going off script to see what Neal would do.

"You can do that?" Joe asked, clearly surprised.

"Win-Win is a law unto itself sometimes," Noelle said, "and I've been trying to convince Henry that isn't normal or good. We are definitely not using company resources to answer a question of personal curiosity."

"You sound a little like Peter right now," Neal said.

"He has a good head on his shoulders," Noelle said. "Now, enough of this nonsense. I'll learn the truth about the desk when Graham and Julia intended for me to learn it. Let's get started on normal Mother's Day weekend activities. I want flowers."

Henry decided that was the perfect excuse to spend time with Joe, getting more information and strategizing. "We'll drop you and Neal at your place. Joe and I'll go shopping."

 **Noelle's townhouse, Baltimore, MD. Saturday afternoon. May 7, 2005.**

When they were dropped off at the townhouse, Noelle led Neal to the back porch, where there were several pots filled with dirt. "These are the remnants of last Mother's Day. Henry always brings me flowers to brighten my porch through the spring and summer. We need to dump out this dirt. They'll bring potting soil with them."

Glad he was wearing jeans, Neal sat on the ground and upended a planter.

Noelle sat beside him, using a spade to empty another planter. "Did you hide that key under the dust cover?" she asked.

She didn't look angry about it. Neal decided his best bet was to give a partial confession and figure how much she knew. "How did you know?"

"I kept thinking about that desk last night. It simply didn't make sense for Graham and Julia to move it to Henry's apartment. If they wanted it out of the way, why not leave it in The House? I hadn't been there for years."

"Until yesterday. There was always the risk you'd drop in. You were thinking about moving back."

"Hmm. Yes, but I hadn't told them about that plan. The chances of me showing up there were slim. If they were concerned about it, though, they could have moved it to a storage unit. That would have been much more practical."

Was his first Mother's Day with Noelle going to be a bust? It seemed like their plan to amuse her had turned into an annoyance instead. "I see your point."

"Are all three of you in on it?" She didn't wait for an answer, but nodded. "Yes, you are. What are Joe and Henry up to now?"

"I think they're negotiating some kind of truce, because they both like to be in charge and they're kind of stepping on each other's toes. I can tell them to put an end to this if you want, but I promise, it's not a con. They… I mean, _we_ thought you'd enjoy a mystery."

"Will this all be wrapped up before you leave?"

"We're nearly at the end. You'll solve it tomorrow." He made a point of looking around to make sure no one was listening. "We even read a Nancy Drew story to get into the spirit of it. Well, we read most of it. Henry and I kinda got off track a few times arguing about who was the culprit. We plan to finish it on the drive back to New York."

She gave him a goofy grin. "You did that for me?"

"Well, yeah." He saw a brightness in her eyes that might be tears and he decided to change the subject. "Yesterday when we were talking about childhood bedrooms, we didn't ask about yours."

"Which one? We moved so many times. Dad's assignments in the diplomatic corps usually lasted one or two years at most. The house in D.C. was meant to be our home base, but we didn't really live there for long until I started high school. Mom worked some magic to get us based there for a few years, and then she stayed with us our senior year when Dad was sent overseas again. You know, my older brother got tired of the moving before we did. He decided to attend a boarding school in D.C. from the time he started junior high, and he joined us abroad for summers and holidays."

"So you don't think of D.C. as home?"

"Oddly enough, I do. Mostly because Mom and Dad are there, I suppose. And do you think of St. Louis as home?"

"I did, growing up. But not anymore. Mom left after I ran away, and even Ellen's moved away now. I don't see much point in going back, so no, it doesn't feel like home anymore."

"What about the Burke's home?"

Neal thought about it. "Kind of. I feel _at home_ there, if you know what I mean. It was the same way spending last Thanksgiving at Peter's parents' house. I felt like I belonged." He smiled. "And the Burke family cabin, too. Is that weird?"

"I think it's good. I hope once Joe and I get settled someplace, you'll feel at home there, too."

"Yeah, and there's Henry's new apartment. He's made it clear he expects me to hang out with him sometimes. It'll probably start to feel homey, too."

"What about your loft?"

"Can I borrow that?" Neal took the spade to remove the dirt that was stuck inside the planter. "It does, and it doesn't. The loft, I mean. I like being there, and it feels like my escape when I want to be alone. I don't feel like I need to ask permission to have anyone over. But it's part of June's house. It's her furniture. So in some ways I feel like a guest."

"I remember you thought you'd be disinvited when Byron died. June said she considered the loft yours as long as you wanted."

"Yeah, that helped."

"Have you thought about what would make it seem more like your own place?"

"No, not really. I mean, I've thought about changing some things, but like I said, it's June's furniture." When Noelle simply looked at him expectantly he elaborated, "The TV is a monster from the 1990s. If I could get rid of it and bring in a flat screen, that would leave more space for guests."

"That sounds like a perfectly reasonable change to make, especially if you plan to live there for several years. Why not talk to June about it?"

"Yeah, I will."

"Good for you! Now I have a question I've been dying to ask. Do you know what's in that pillowcase Henry brought from The House?"

Neal shook his head. "No idea, and as far as I know it's not related to the mystery you're supposed to solve."

"Good! He left it here last night, and I wanted to peek. Let's hurry before they get back."

As Henry had told them, there were shoes, a book and an extremely odd looking toy. It seemed to be a plastic rendition of a rolled up newspaper. The headline read _Man Bites Dog_ , and when Noelle squeezed it, it squeaked. She gave Neal a watery smile and said, "This was Lulu's favorite."

"Oh, right. Henry's dog. What happened to her?"

"She died about a year before the divorce. Every once in a while I'd ask if Henry wanted to get another dog, but he always said _no_. I didn't realize he kept her toy."

"You think he wants to get a dog now? He travels so much for his job, it doesn't seem like a good idea."

"Eventually he'll have a team there in New York and they can share the travel. I think it would be a great idea for Henry to have a dog again. Talk about making his new place into a home, a pet to welcome him home would be the perfect touch." She put the toy back in the pillowcase. "What book did he bring?"

"A Hardy Boys mystery." Neal held it up for her to see. "Looks new."

"He never read it. I gave it to him, oh, it must have been his twelfth birthday. I'd been such a fan of Nancy Drew, I was certain he'd love the Hardy Boys. But his father was already working hard to turn him into a miniature detective, and he simply couldn't bring himself to read a mystery for pleasure. I think leaving it behind when we left was symbolic of leaving behind everything his father represented."

"You think he'll read it now?"

"Who knows? I'd guess the story will pale in comparison to the adventures the two of you had over the years."

They heard the overhead garage door open, and hastily put the pillowcase back where Henry had left it.

Joe and Henry entered with their arms full of purple flowers. "Larkspurs!" Noelle said. "You remembered."

"Told you she'd call them larkspurs," Henry said. "Joe kept saying they were delphiniums."

"That's what the sign said," Joe protested.

"Let's get these outside," Noelle said, putting the men to work transplanting the flowers into the now empty planters. Since the larkspurs were a Mother's Day gift, she sat on one of the outdoor chairs to watch.

"Mom always wanted larkspurs, if we could find them," Henry said as he showed Neal how much potting soil to pour into the planters. "She had a book about them and she was obsessed with it." He looked up at Noelle. "Do you still have the book?"

"Yes. Remind me to show it to you. I think you'll find it enlightening." She winked at Neal.

"You wouldn't let me touch it when I was a kid," Henry complained.

"I was concerned you and Lulu would tear it apart. You were a little ruffian, in case you've forgotten. Now I think you're grown up enough to appreciate it."

Henry gave her a sideways look. "Wait. This isn't some kind of erotic —"

Noelle laughed. "Far from it. I've had that book since I was nine, as I recall."

"You were a ruffian, too," Henry muttered. "I've heard the stories."

"Books can typically survive one ruffian. Two is too many. Now get back to work on my flowers."

 **Noelle's townhouse, Baltimore, MD. Sunday morning. May 8, 2005.**

Neal had taken over Noelle's kitchen, preparing a Mother's Day brunch for everyone. Henry was "helping," which mainly consisted of tasting things, setting the table, and making coffee.

On their way back to the hotel last night, Henry admitted that he hadn't gotten much more information out of Joe. Their partner in crime had insisted that Henry needed to learn to trust him, and that keeping them in the dark about parts of the mystery added to the realism when Neal and Henry were legitimately surprised by some of the twists and turns in the case. Henry had complained that Joe was almost as stubborn as Neal, but he said it with a grudging admiration. Stepfather and stepson were forging a friendship. Noelle would be pleased.

Given that positive step, Neal decided not to tell Henry or Joe that Noelle knew they were behind the mystery. They'd all enjoy it more if it played out to the end as planned. It was odd not knowing the end that Joe had in mind, though. Neal's experience working cases in the FBI and in cons and thefts before that had one thing in common: he always knew the ultimate goal. Joe was throwing both cousins for a loop with the secrets he was keeping.

Noelle had thrown him for a loop, too, with the conversation about homes. Even though he felt welcomed and comfortable in many homes, he wasn't convinced he had the same sense of _home_ that she did. To him, it felt more like an emotional version of Mozzie's safe houses. If there were such a thing a safe house for your soul, then the Burkes' home might qualify.

Late last night he'd started to wonder if he really felt at home anywhere. Was a former con artist who was used to being on the run capable of settling down into a home, or did he simply adapt to the locations where he spent the most time? In recent months he'd thought of himself as a shapeshifter, fitting into any environment. If that were true, then was thinking he had a home only a matter of conning himself into believing that he belonged in the places where he had the most practice fitting in?

He'd soon tired of those questions and told his overactive imagination to shut up. It was too depressing to think he'd never truly have a home.

When Neal and Henry arrived at the townhouse this morning, Joe was out. Noelle said he'd had an errand to run. She didn't know what it was, but he'd promised to return by noon. His timing was impeccable, arriving just as Neal was ready to serve the quiche. Noelle had been reading while "her boys" cooked, and she brought the book to the table with her. She slapped Henry's hand away when he tried to grab it, saying they should eat, first.

"That's it, though, isn't it?" Henry insisted. "It's the larkspur book."

Noelle confirmed his suspicion, and Henry managed to behave until Neal rose to get the coffee cake he'd made for dessert. That distracted Noelle enough that he got the book away from her. "No way!" Henry said when he finally saw the title. "Another Nancy Drew mystery. _The Password to Larkspur Lane_."

Neal gave everyone a slice of the coffee cake before saying, "I'm sure there's a story behind that book if you've kept it since you were nine."

"Thank you for not doing the math and reminding us how many years ago that was," Noelle said. "The story goes back to something I mentioned to you yesterday. When he was twelve, my brother David decided to stay in D.C. and go to a boarding school. I'm sure he had no idea how much turmoil he was causing Meredith and me. There we were, nine years old, and for the first time questioning what _home_ meant because our brother felt like he was staying home, but I'd always thought _home_ was being with Mom and Dad. When it came time to move for Dad's next assignment, my sister and I put up a big fuss."

Joe refilled her coffee and asked, "Did your parents have a house in D.C. during the time you were traveling?"

"Yes. They'd purchased their current house a few years before that big fuss I mentioned. Dad always wanted us to have a home base to return to, and that house fulfilled his vision of what a family home should be. You should have seen our bedroom. Frilly and princess pink. Dad said it suited us because we were sweet princesses when we slept, and little devils when we woke up and left the room."

"You were identical twins?" Joe asked.

"Yes, identical in many ways, but opposites in others. I remember when I was ten someone asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I said I wanted to be a sleuth."

"Like Nancy Drew," said Neal.

"Exactly like her. And when they asked Meredith, she said she wanted to be a knight errant."

Neal nodded, remembering her love of Camelot and of stories about the Round Table. She'd probably dreamed of a knight or wizard who would rescue her from her humdrum life and take her on adventures, but she'd never met anyone like that in St. Louis. Or if she had, she'd decided she needed to stay home with her son, instead.

"Well, when we were nine and insisting we wanted the whole family to stay home in D.C. with David, Mom said that we could take home with us. She told us each to pick something small enough that we could carry it ourselves, and she'd make sure it went with us each time we moved. It would always stay in our new home, and be waiting for us to return when we went on vacations. I picked one of my Nancy Drew mysteries, and Meredith selected one of her books: _The Story of King Arthur and His Knights_ , by Howard Pyle."

"Those books were your anchors," Henry said.

"Yes, you could say that. The quarters for diplomats were typically already furnished, or we rented what we needed. It simply wasn't practical to take much more than our clothing on international moves. Our books were among our few constants as we grew up. Each time we moved, Mom and Dad would read to us from those books our first night in our new home." She patted Henry's hand. "Our first night in this townhouse, I stayed up and reread the whole book. It helped settle my fears about taking you from your father and disrupting your life." Then she patted Neal's hand. "I also reread it the night the Marshals took you and Meredith away, hoping you'd both settle into a new home as happily as possible."

As Noelle wiped away a tear, Joe cleared his throat. "I'd like to propose that we put aside the reminiscences for a few hours and spend some time looking at the present and future. Can I interest you all in a tour of Baltimore's architectural highlights — by which I mean the parts of town where I have projects?"

He drove them past civic and commercial buildings. Then he surprised Noelle by driving through a neighborhood filled with Arts and Crafts style homes. He pulled to a stop in front of one of the houses, and she gasped. "It's the house from the flier!"

Everyone got out of Joe's truck to stand on the sidewalk. Signs in the yard mentioned that the home was a project for a local construction company and Joe's architecture firm.

"Larkspurs," Noelle said with a sigh. She walked up to the front of the house, where the flowers were growing. They looked recently planted, with dark potting soil still surrounding them. "When did you plant them?"

"This morning. After your reaction to the larkspurs yesterday, I knew they were exactly what this house needed."

"And if we were to go inside, would we find a roll-top desk?"

Joe nodded. "I think that's very likely. Want to find out?" He led the way inside. While the exterior of the house was classic Arts and Crafts, the interior was a work in progress. "The previous owners remodeled in the 1980s, and it was a nightmare. Mauve and dusty blue everywhere, and they'd painted over or even removed most of the Craftsman touches. The new owners asked if I could map out a plan to restore it."

"But how…" Noelle looked at him with eyes still wide with surprise. "You said you haven't done residential work in ages. I thought Graham and Julia's condo was the only exception."

"Turns out you're my best advertising. You bragged about me to your fellow professors, and word spread. A professor of history who joined the staff this semester contacted me after he and his wife bought this place. They planned to move in with their daughter after the remodel, but then circumstances changed. First they learned they were expecting another baby. Then a few weeks ago they learned they're expecting triplets. They need a bigger place."

"They're the family you introduced to Pops," Henry said.

"It's turned into a musical chairs of housing options. Your old apartment is turning into your grandparents' condo, their house is going to be home to four children — and your grandfather is tickled pink about that — and that leaves this house in need of a new owner." Joe grinned at them. "They were so grateful that I connected them with Graham, the current owners said they wouldn't put this house on the market until my wife had a chance to see it. I told them I had a feeling it would be love at first sight."

Noelle hugged him. "Yes! Yes, this is perfect."

Henry glanced at Neal and said, "I should have warned you. Mother's Day with Mom always gets mushy."

Neal was smiling. He'd already added this house to the list of places that felt like an emotional safe house. "I don't mind."

 **June Ellington's mansion, Manhattan, NY. Sunday evening. May 8, 2005.**

Peter and Elizabeth Burke and June Ellington were in the living room, where the Burkes' Lab, Satchmo, played with June's Pug, Bugsy. The last several days Bugsy had stayed with the Burkes while June was away visiting one of her daughters. She'd returned home an hour ago and they'd brought her puppy back.

The trio were quietly chatting when they heard the front door open, followed by two familiar voices.

"No, I didn't change the ending. I read you exactly what she wrote," Neal said. "It's there in black-and-white. Neal was behind everything."

Henry vehemently disagreed. "No way. Henry was obviously the criminal mastermind. He was such a genius that even at the end no one suspected a thing."

"You mean he was such a non-entity that everyone forgot about him. I'm telling you, Neal was the genius."

"Sounded like an idiot, to me."

"That was all part of the con. Of course he pretended to be bumbling around, so everyone would underestimate —" Neal stopped when he noticed everyone staring at him. "Umm. That wasn't what it sounded like."

Peter shook his head. "I'm glad to say I'm no longer worried when the two of you argue about who's the better criminal. I know you too well to believe you'd go back to that life."

"But we do want to know what you were talking about," said El.

"Coffee?" June offered. "Or perhaps a glass of wine?"

"Wine sounds perfect," Neal said. "It's a long story."

"Take a seat, then," June said. "And welcome home."

Peter thought the trip must have gone well. He'd worried a bit about Neal's first Mother's Day with Noelle and all the opportunities for angst that could come from spending this weekend with an aunt who had only recently been revealed to be Neal's biological mother, but the kid looked perfectly relaxed. El had an _I-told-you-so_ expression, because she'd insisted the trip to Baltimore would be good for Neal. Peter suspected that she'd been conspiring with Joe on plans to keep Neal from getting too lost in his head during the trip. When they got home he'd try to get more information out of her. Or maybe he should simply call Joe to get the full story.

Neal shared a contented smile with all of them. "I'm glad I went to Baltimore, but it's good to be home."

"Hey, wanna read another mystery next weekend?" Henry asked. "I packed that Hardy Boys book. We can take bets on which one of us guesses whodunnit first."

It looked like Neal was about to decline, not surprising given the amount of assigned reading he had as a grad student, but then he seemed to remember that summer break would soon offer more time for pleasure reading. "Once I finish my classes this semester, I'll wipe the floor with you."

Henry snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Hardy Boys, huh?" Peter said. "I remember reading those. Are you a fan?"

"Never tried 'em," Henry said, "but Mom always thought I'd like them. I'm finally going to give one a try."

"Did you have a favorite book as a child, Neal?" Elizabeth asked.

Neal shook his head. "I don't think I had a favorite, but if I could reread any of my old books now, I'd want _Harold and the Purple Crayon_."

El nodded. "The perfect book for a young artist." She gave Peter a look he knew well. The next time there was an occasion that called for a gift to Neal, they would be buying that book.

 _A/N: My thanks to Silbrith for being an extraordinarily sweet and kind person, and also for the Nancy Drew inspiration. I reread a few of the Nancy Drew books recently to prepare for this vignette, indulging in some happy grade school memories. One of the stories I picked more-or-less at random was The Clue of the Broken Locket; the pop music piracy plot line, along with characters named Henry and Neal, was too good to pass up. I had to mention the book in this vignette. To see some of the items referenced in this vignette, visit the Caffrey Vignettes Pinterest board._

 _In addition to all the coincidences Neal & Henry pointed out, the Nancy Drew mystery they read also included a group called The Flying Dutchmen. You may recall that in canon Curtis Hagen was called The Dutchman. I didn't explore that link in this vignette, but you'll read more about Hagen in Silbrith's next story: Witches' Sabbath. That story begins on a Friday the 13_ _th_ _, and the first chapter will be posted on Halloween. Today, in honor of the anniversary of White Collar's premiere, Silbrith has posted a Caffrey Conversation trivia challenge to our blog: Penna Nomen and Silbrith Conversation at Blogspot_

 _The next vignette I have in mind will be a holiday story inspired by Dickens' A Christmas Carol. I plan to publish it in December._

 **About the characters, and references to other stories:**

In addition to the canon characters, in this chapter we see Henry and Noelle and Joe. Henry is a little older than Neal, and works for private investigation firm Winston-Winslow (Win-Win); the company is based in Baltimore but Henry is opening a branch in New York. Noelle is Henry's mother, a professor of psychology in Baltimore; she also acted as a surrogate after her twin sister (Meredith) had several miscarriages. That's why Neal was raised by Meredith in WITSEC and is considered her son, but Noelle is listed on his birth certificate. Joe is an architect and Peter's older brother. Joe and Noelle were married on New Year's Day. Graham Winslow is Henry's paternal grandfather, and Julia is Graham's second wife. Robert was Henry's father, and Graham's son. Eric Vasquez is an architect recommended by Joe, and is involved in the remodel of Henry's new apartment and office space; Eric is also a potential romantic interest for Henry.

Choirboy Caffrey: Neal rents the loft from June & Byron (chapter 8)

By the Book: Noelle is a professor of psychology (chapter 20)

Caffrey Envoy: Neal's grandfather (Noelle's father) is an ambassador.

Caffrey Flashback: June says Neal can stay in the loft as long as he wants (chapter 9), Joe is an architect who likes to work on museums and galleries (chapter 27)

Complications: Neal decides to get a graduate degree in art history and visual arts

Caffrey Disclosure: Neal's grandmother, Irene Caffrey, gave baby Neal the nickname _Baby Bear_ because of the way Neal growled when he was unhappy (chapter 2), Little Henry used cooking pots for drums (chapters 8  & 24), Neal visits Henry's apartment in Baltimore (chapter 18), Julia designed the sailboat Executive Decision (chapter 19), Noelle and Henry rushed to move out of Robert's house (chapter 30), Robert's death (chapter 41), Neal visits Noelle's townhouse (chapter 42), Noelle acted as a surrogate and is listed as the mother on Neal's birth certificate (chapter 44), Masterson Music case (many, many chapters)

Woman in Blue: Neal thinks of himself as a shapeshifter (chapter 12)

The Queen's Jewels: Mozzie recommends having many places to escape to (chapter 1), We see the house the Burke family moved into when Joe was 14 (chapter 14)

Caffrey Aloha: Peter's brother Joe Burke marries Neal's aunt Noelle Caffrey Winslow in Hawaii.

Caffrey Vignettes: Henry had a dog named Lulu (Spring Break), June adopts Bugsy (Casual Day)

Raphael's Dragon: Noelle attends an event at Columbia where Neal's paintings are on display (chapter 7), As a little girl, Noelle loved Nancy Drew mysteries while her sister preferred stories about King Arthur (chapter 7), Neal is poisoned and spends a few days in the hospital (chapters 8-9), Henry purchased one of Neal's paintings (chapters 8-9), Neal and Henry discuss _The Three Musketeers_ (chapter 9)


	5. Chapter 5 - Magic Trick

_A/N: This vignette is entirely from Peter's point of view and follows immediately after Silbrith's latest story (Witches' Sabbath), which is a crossover between TV shows White Collar and Supernatural._

 _In Silbrith's story, White Collar canon criminal Curtis Hagen has escaped from prison, seeming to vanish into thin air. Neal and Peter work with Supernatural's Sam & Dean Winchester to understand what happened._

 _I had two inspirations for this story. The first is the fun of a road trip with Neal and Peter, so the story opens with them driving back to New York. There are a lot of people taking road trips in the U.S. over the Thanksgiving holiday, and I wish you all fun and safe journeys. My second inspiration is Harry Potter. Enjoy!_

 **Agent Peter Burke's car, Connecticut. Monday morning. May 16, 2005.**

They were driving through New Haven when Peter had a sense of deja vu. "Remember the last time we were here?"

Neal had been fiddling with the radio, _again_ , but stopped to look up at the town. It took him a moment to recognize it, and then he smiled. "The Harry Potter case."

"That's what you call it?" Peter asked. He'd almost forgotten about that aspect of the case. A disguise of round, wire-rimmed glasses, plus a Harry Potter ringtone on Neal's phone had convinced a couple of kids that Neal was an adult Harry Potter. Peter hadn't read the books, but his wife was a fan and they'd watched the movies together. Therefore he remembered enough to come back with, "I think it should be known as the Voldemort case. Too many things went wrong. First you ended up in the hospital, and then your cousin did. I was beginning to think…" Peter almost joked that he'd felt cursed to hang out in hospital waiting rooms on every visit to Connecticut, but stopped. He couldn't joke about curses, not today.

"No hospital trips this time," Neal said. "That's an improvement."

Peter couldn't think of this latest trip as an improvement at all. "Are you going to tell your family?" Peter asked.

"About yesterday?"

Peter nodded.

"Nah. They'd probably think I was kidding if I described what we witnessed. Or they'd want to put me in therapy."

"Stress manifesting as hallucinations?" Peter suggested as a potential diagnosis.

"Yeah. What about you? What are you gonna tell Elizabeth?"

Peter felt a churning in the pit of his stomach. "It was different last time, you know? When we met the Winchester brothers in New Jersey last month, what we were investigating was more annoying than frightening. When I got home, I described what I experienced as a virus. That seemed more believable than a curse. Anyway, El laughs so hard whenever she sees the pictures of me from that trip, she doesn't have breath left to ask why Mozzie told her I was cursed."

Neal grinned, with good reason. The photos of Peter under the dorkiness curse represented a gold mine of blackmail-worthy material. So far none of the photos had made it into the office… yet. Neal had abided by his promise to keep those events secret.

"Before we left New York, I told her we were researching prison video footage of Curtis Hagen disappearing into thin air."

"Like the Flying Dutchman disappearing into the mist," Neal added, referring to the name the White Collar team had for Hagen.

"She thought it was fascinating," Peter said. "She'd probably enjoy it if I told her the escape was like something from the Harry Potter movies. She'd laugh and think I was spinning a tale for her entertainment. But what if I managed to convince her it's true? We saw this weekend that there are real witches and demons out there. Bad guys with incredible powers." He didn't mention another aspect he found equally upsetting, that the witch they had encountered displayed a disquieting interest in Neal. "Should I expose El to that?"

Of course Neal said Peter should spare her the knowledge. Neal and secrets went hand-in-hand. Usually Peter encouraged more openness, but today he truly understood Neal's side of the argument. This time it did feel like keeping El in the dark was protecting her.

"Too bad the only magic tricks I know are sleight-of-hand," Neal said. "I wish I could solve everything by muttering some Latin and waving my hands."

The resulting thought of wanna-be witch Chloe Bishop made Peter shudder. The romance author had inadvertently caused the dorkiness curse by muttering some mispronounced Latin, but fortunately her latest attempts to perform spells had proven unsuccessful. "I don't want to deal with another amateur spellcaster." After a pause he added, "Tell me you aren't planning to take lessons from Chloe."

"I promise. I'm holding out for my Hogwarts invitation."

Peter snorted. "I know which movie you'd star in: _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets._ The last time we came to Connecticut, it was about three weeks after you'd traded your confession for immunity, and I naively thought we knew most of your secrets as a result. As far as I was concerned, the only mystery left was whether that trouble-making friend you kept mentioning was real or a joke."

"The Ron to my Harry," Neal quipped.

"Little did I know you had a whole treasure trove of secrets you were still hiding." Peter reflected on the things he'd learned about Neal's past and family over the last year and a half. "We're beyond that now, right? Full disclosure?"

"I don't want to keep you in the dark," Neal said.

Encouraging, but not a promise to keep Peter informed, either. He let it go for the moment, as they were reaching heavy traffic that required his attention. It wasn't long until Peter dropped Neal off at his loft and then drove home to Brooklyn. By the time he arrived, El had already left for work. She wouldn't be back until that evening, after her rehearsal for a community theater production _._

Having worked through the weekend chasing down their best lead on Curtis Hagen, Peter had Monday off. He stayed occupied with tasks around the townhouse. As long as he kept busy, he could block out thoughts of witches and demons.

Before El got home, he'd worn himself out tackling more household chores than he would have believed possible. She dashed upstairs to change out of her costume. He sat on the sofa with a beer in one hand and the TV remote in another, cruising through the channels until he found a baseball game.

He tried to concentrate on the game. The Chicago Cubs were playing. He listened to the commentary about the team and their record. It was closing in on a century since they'd last won a World Series. It took dedication to be a fan of the Cubbies. It was like the team was cursed…

 _Damn_. His mind kept returning to spells and curses. Peter turned up the volume on the game in hopes that it would drown out his troubling thoughts. He wanted to forget what he'd seen in Connecticut, even if only for one night.

Unfortunately it felt as if the witch had cast a spell on him, refusing to leave him alone. If he wanted to capture Hagen he'd probably have to find the witch again. But how? What did he know about witches beyond what he'd read in high school? _The Crucible. Macbeth._ Until this weekend works of fiction had been his primary sources of information about them.

He still hadn't decided what to tell his wife. And what was he supposed to put in his report tomorrow regarding what he'd learned about Hagen's supernatural prison escape? If he told the truth, everyone but Neal would think he was insane.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Tuesday afternoon, Peter wondered where the day had gone. So far he'd been too busy to write up a summary of what he'd learned over the weekend. What could he say that didn't sound like a fantasy? When he tried out explanations in his head, they reminded him of that latest movie in the Harry Potter series. What was it called? _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ , that was it. El's sister had given them the movie for Christmas. He vaguely remembered it featured the search for a wizard who'd escaped from prison. Maybe he should watch it again to see if it provided any ideas for finding an escaped forger aided and abetted by a witch. He hoped that Hagen would be easier to track down than Sirius Black had been.

Deciding his report might be easier to write with help, he walked down to the bullpen to find Neal. The kid did have a way with words. Maybe the magic touch of a reformed con artist was what Peter needed to craft an explanation that his boss could believe.

"Looking for Neal?" Diana asked.

Peter nodded.

"He said he needed something from the evidence room. I think he called it a _hex bag_." Diana raised a brow, inviting further explanation.

"Thanks. And, you don't want to know." Heading toward the evidence room, Peter wondered what Neal wanted with the hex bag. It had been discovered at the prison from which Hagen had escaped, and had already been thoroughly examined. That's what had sent them looking for Hagen in Connecticut in the first place.

Peter turned the final corner, and stopped short. The door to the evidence room was shut, with a note that the guard was on a break. Neal stood facing the door, eyes closed, and seemed to be mumbling something. He made a gesture and suddenly the hex bag appeared in the palm of his right hand.

Neal tossed the bag up in the air and caught it, in much the same way he played with the rubber band ball at his desk.

On impulse, Peter quickly turned around and stepped into an open room off the corridor. He stood to the side and watched as Neal walked by. The kid had a satisfied grin and started whistling a vaguely familiar tune.

When Neal was gone, Peter took a deep breath and sat down.

 _What was that?_

Was it something Neal had learned from the Winchesters? But if they could do stuff like that, why hadn't they used those skills fighting the witch who'd tried to kill them on Sunday?

Or… Was it something Neal had already been able to do?

Peter never would have taken the idea seriously a year ago, but now he saw Neal's criminal past in a whole new light. The list of cons and thefts Neal had pulled off before joining the FBI had always seemed incredible. How did someone so young get away with so many complicated crimes? Yeah, the kid was smart, bordering on genius even, but it still strained credulity to believe everything he had supposedly done. It was almost easier to accept that Neal had a magical ability to make items _poof_ out of locked rooms and into his hands.

Peter had to shake his head at the level of coincidence. In an unorthodox attempt to track down a cybercriminal, Diana had started writing fan fiction based on the Cthulhu Mythos, and her stories described evidence _poofing_ out of police custody. Little did she know that it wasn't fiction, after all.

So much for not keeping secrets anymore. This one eclipsed all of the others Neal had reluctantly revealed. But rather than blame Neal for not trusting him, Peter had to admit the challenges the kid would have faced if he'd tried admitting he was a true wizard. Back when Neal first joined the team, Peter would never have believed something like this. He'd have chuckled and told Neal to stop joking around. But after what they'd witnessed recently, Peter realized he had to be open to more possibilities.

Should he let Neal know what he'd seen?

Yes, they should talk about it, Peter decided as he walked back to his desk. Not in the office, though. Maybe they could grab some takeout after work and talk someplace where they wouldn't be overheard. Peter needed to know how Neal had learned to use magic. Was it a skill a person had to be born with, or could the whole White Collar team be taught to do these things?

Would that be legal?

Peter thought back again to Neal having been mistaken for Harry Potter. He claimed he'd entertained the awe-struck children with sleight-of-hand tricks, but had it been real magic instead? Would he have dared to show his true skills to those little girls, knowing they wouldn't be believed if they told anyone?

At the time, Jones had wanted to get a photo of Neal in those glasses, and edit it to add a lightning bolt scar. Had he ever done it? Peter imagined getting a copy of that photo, handing it to Neal and saying, "We need to talk."

What else was Neal hiding? Did he know of creatures like the dementors of the movie, which could help them capture Hagen and his accomplice?

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

He heard that song again, the one Neal had been whistling. This time Peter remembered it was from the Harry Potter movies.

Where was it coming from?

He opened his eyes, and stretched.

"Do you want to switch back to the game?" Elizabeth asked. He'd fallen asleep and she'd started watching that movie he'd been dreaming about, _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._

"No, this is good."

Just a dream. Neal wasn't a wizard.

 _Right?_

Peter wondered if there was a way to ask Neal without opening himself up to merciless teasing. Probably not. He put an arm around his wife. "I told you about the case where Neal was mistaken for Harry Potter, didn't I?"

El paused the movie. "That was right after he started working for you."

"I was dreaming about it. I mean, that he really was a wizard."

"Well, that would explain a lot. He's already a gifted artist, and a skilled linguist, and the pride of his fencing team. How unlikely is it that he's also a virtuoso thief and con artist? It's almost easier to believe that he used magic to do some of the things in that big case file you used to bring home."

 _Exactly_. He should have trusted that El would get it. He relaxed. Tonight he'd take a break from worrying, and tomorrow morning he'd tell El the highlights of his adventure in Connecticut. "Have I mentioned recently how lucky I am to be married to you?"

"It's always good to hear." She leaned in for a quick kiss. "Now, hush. I want to watch the movie."

 _A/N: I hadn't planned to write another vignette until December, but plot bunnies attacked me and wouldn't let go. I still intend to publish a story next month inspired by Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. Also, on December 7 Silbrith will start publishing her next story: The Locked Room._

 _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban was released on home video in November, 2004. You can read more on our blog (Penna Nomen and Silbrith conversation) about how Harry Potter and road trips inspired this story. There are also images related to this story posted on Pinterest: search for Penna Nomen or Caffrey Vignettes._

 _References to prior stories: We're very near Silbrith's birthday, and in her honor almost every reference to past stories is to the ones she wrote. The exception is that the previous trips to Connecticut & Neal being mistaken for Harry Potter were in my story By the Book. Neal's role on his fencing team is featured in Silbrith's The Queen's Jewels. Diana's fan fiction is mentioned in several of Silbrith's stories, and you can find the actual stories in her Arkham Files series. The dorkiness curse occurred in Whispers in the Night. Hagen's prison escape and the search for him are described in Witches' Sabbath. _

_Happy Almost Birthday to Silbrith!_


	6. Chapter 6 - Splash

_A/N: Lots of fluff in this chapter/short story. Henry adopts a puppy that has a few things in common with Neal. We see a few scenes from Satchmo's point of view._

 _I'll try to make each vignette friendly for new readers to the AU. In the end notes, there are references to other stories in the AU in case you want to visit (or revisit) those older scenes._

 **Henry Winslow's apartment. Friday evening. November 11, 2005.**

As much as Neal Caffrey liked his loft's vintage kitchen, he had to admire the modern appliances in his cousin's apartment. On a crisp autumn evening it had been a pleasure to hang out there and prepare dinner.

Even more fun had been bossing around his cousin, treating Henry as his sous chef. Although he grumbled, Henry had paid close attention. He was finally coming to the realization that he needed more than pizza delivery and Indian takeout in his diet.

"Not bad," Henry admitted, leaning back from the table and pushing aside his empty plate. "I get to keep the leftovers, right?"

"They're all yours, and they reheat easily. Think you could make cottage pie on your own next time?"

"You know, I'm still disappointed that something with _pie_ in the name isn't a dessert."

"Once you master this dish, I'll think about teaching you how to make a dessert pie. So back to my question. Do you think you can prepare it without my help?"

"Yeah, probably, if you leave the instructions."

"It's called a recipe."

"Whatever."

"And you can't leave out the vegetables. They add to the flavor, and they're good for you."

Henry looked ready to argue that point, but paused when they heard a muffled tune. He stood and started patting his pockets. "Where is it?" he muttered.

"Since when is your ringtone the Macarena?"

"Since I lost the company pool tournament this afternoon and the winner got to pick ringtones for the rest of us." Henry looked around the apartment. "Have you seen my phone?"

Neal took another bite of cottage pie and shrugged.

Henry's eyes narrowed. "You bumped into me when you took off your coat." He dashed to the row of hooks next to the front door and dug a phone out of Neal's coat. "Hello?" he answered. He listened a minute and said, "Right. Sunday would work." He scribbled a note on a message board beside the door, and then read a time and address back, waiting for confirmation that it was correct. "See you then."

Neal carried their plates to the dishwasher while Henry was on the phone, and turned around to see a stern expression on his cousin's face.

"You picked my pocket," Henry said.

"Well, yeah. Gotta stay in practice." Neal grinned. "You should have seen yourself, checking all your pockets." He did an exaggerated imitation. "It did look like you were trying to do the Macarena."

The stern expression vanished into laughter. "You've got such a splash-happy look right now."

"That's something I haven't heard in years." _Splash-happy_ was a phrase they'd invented when Neal turned eighteen, and it brought back good memories. "You ever think about that place? I wonder if they're still open."

"We can look it up later. That call was from the rescue organization I told you about. I'm finally at the top of their waiting list."

Neal looked around the apartment. "Are you ready?"

"I thought so, but maybe I should try a test. Think we could borrow Satchmo?"

"Probably. Peter didn't mention any plans, so I don't think we'd be interrupting a date night. Let's give them a call."

"Warn them?" Henry complained. "Where's the fun in that?"

"If we don't call, we risk driving to Brooklyn to find they aren't home."

"That's even better. If they're away we'll sneak in and take Satch."

"We aren't kidnapping Peter's dog," Neal insisted.

 **Burke townhouse. Friday evening. November 11, 2005.**

A super-sleuth lived in the Burke townhouse. He was a yellow Lab named Satchmo.

It wasn't a job for slackers. He was constantly listening, in order to warn his humans of approaching strangers. No one crossed the threshold until he'd verified if they were friend or foe. In his spare time, he kept track of the stash of toys, finding any missing ones, as well as making sure his humans took breaks to walk and play.

They seemed completely unaware of the interesting scents along the streets and in the park, so he drew their attention to things they would have missed.

They would be lost without him.

Tonight his pack had gathered on the sofa. Peter and El stared at the big glowing box, and Satchmo wriggled whenever he thought it had been too long since someone had petted him. El was scratching his ears when Peter's little glowing box chirped. Whenever it did that, he held it to his ear and talked to it.

This time after he put the little box away, Peter and El talked to each other and then they gathered toys, food and a leash into a bag. Usually that meant Satchmo was going to stay with El's sister and her litter of human pups. Last time he'd stayed with them, he'd chased away an annoying squirrel. Maybe it had returned and they needed him to chase it again.

El mentioned a walk, and Satchmo sprang to the door to show his delight with that idea.

"I guess you're right," said Peter, and he took the leash out of the bag to attach it to Satchmo's collar.

They were walking back home when they noticed a car nearby. People were stepping out of it, and Satchmo caught the familiar scents of Neal and Henry. They were extended members of his pack. The two humans smelled a lot alike, as if they came from the same litter. Neal was his favorite, but Henry had more experience with dogs and gave the best belly rubs. They were young and energetic, which meant they were pups, and Satchmo knew that pups needed lots of love.

He strained against his leash so he could lavish attention on them, wagging his tail to alert Peter that these were friends.

Peter chuckled. "Who's that, Satch?"

Good thing he had a super-sleuth along to recognize their pack. Satchmo barked to get their attention, and they paused at the front steps. When he and Peter caught up to them, Satchmo sniffed the hands they offered in greeting.

He waited impatiently in the vestibule while they removed their coats. Humans were so silly, taking coats on and off. Dogs didn't waste time with that.

Henry made a happy sound as Satchmo scampered around him. "In a minute, fella," he promised, and then proceeded to the living room where he sat on a chair and gave the super-sleuth an all-over body rub. "Happy to see me, huh?"

Satchmo wagged his tail in appreciation and then turned his attention to Neal, trying to lick his face.

"Thanks for letting me borrow him," said Henry.

"Good idea to make certain your apartment is dog-proofed before you adopt," El said in her _good-boy_ voice. Satchmo loved that voice. He moved to sit beside her and placed his head on her knee to show his adoration.

"I've got an appointment at a rescue shelter on Sunday, and it sounds like they have what I'm looking for."

"Are you excited, or nervous?" El asked.

"Both. I love dogs, but I haven't owned one since Lulu died, back when I was in high school. For a long time I wasn't ready to replace her, and then with all my traveling it wasn't practical. Now I've committed to staying home more and letting others on my team have opportunities to follow cases to the ends of the earth."

Peter reached over to scratch Satchmo's ears. "Do you want to take Satch along to the shelter on Sunday?"

Henry nodded. "I'd like to see how the dogs interact with him. That could tell me a lot. I can drop him back home afterward."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," El said. "If all goes well, you're going to have your hands full with a new pet. Why don't we meet you at the shelter?"

"You don't mind? Neal's volunteered to come along, so I won't be trying to wrangle two dogs on my own."

Neal made the happy sound that humans called _laughter_. "C'mon, Henry. Can't you tell she's angling to come along and play with the puppies?"

Peter spoke up. "Just playing, right? We're not planning to adopt another pet."

"We have our hands full with Satchmo," El agreed.

 **Long Island Water Dog Sanctuary. Sunday afternoon. November 13, 2005.**

After two days of playing and romping and snoozing with Henry, Satchmo was visiting an exciting new place. It had a large yard — almost as big as a park — and it was near the water. There were lots of other dogs here, and he joined them in playing fetch and chasing each other along the shore.

The humans stood in a cluster, watching and talking. If he brought them a stick or toy, they'd throw it for him. Mostly it was Peter who played with him. Henry was interacting with the dogs who lived here. Elizabeth and Neal were talking to the humans who smelled like this place was their home.

The alpha human for the pack here said, "We take in abandoned Water Dogs — both the Spanish and Portuguese varieties — and occasionally a spaniel. Some are strays, and the city shelters send them here. Others are brought to us by owners unable to keep a pet — anything from changes to a lease that won't let them keep a dog, to realizing they don't have the time and energy required. These are smart animals who need attention and regular exercise. We train them, rehabilitate them if needed, and then find them new homes."

No one else seemed to notice the young female who was following her nose away from the house. When she was nearly out of sight, Satchmo barked to alert the humans and then leapt after her.

He could hear a commotion among the humans.

"He's tracking another dog," said Peter. "I can see glimpses of dark brown fur in the bushes ahead of Satch."

"I count five on the beach. The only one missing is Splash," said the woman who was the alpha. She started walking and the other humans followed. "She can't seem to resist exploring. Splash!" she yelled. "Splash, come back here!"

"I'll stay with the ones on the beach," volunteered the other female from the local human pack.

"Thanks," said the alpha.

"The puppy's name is Splash?" asked Neal.

"That's right. An international job transfer made keeping her impractical, so her owner brought her here three weeks ago. She's a Spanish Water Dog, about six months old. She looks purebred, but doesn't have papers."

"Is she trained?" Henry asked.

"Somewhat. She'll heel and sit and rollover. She'll play fetch for hours. Coming when called is still an area where she needs work."

Satchmo followed Splash into an area thick with bushes and dead vines. She yelped as she slid into a hole and struggled to free herself. He pawed at the bushes around her, and then barked at his pack to hurry up.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Good boy, Satchmo." Henry patted the yellow Lab and crouched down to study the situation. Splash had slid into a shallow, rocky crevice, nearly hidden by a tangle of thorny bushes. If she were relaxed she might figure a way out, but she was in a panic. The voices calling out to her only made the puppy more anxious.

Henry stood and faced what probably felt to the puppy like an approaching hoard of people. "She's stuck, and scared. Give us some space? I think I can get her out once she settles down."

El and the woman who ran the rescue shelter nodded and turned back toward the house. Neal and Peter stayed, about ten feet away. It wouldn't hurt to have them ready to catch the puppy if she tried to run. He wouldn't be surprised if she had a flight instinct.

Crouching down again, Henry crept a little closer.

Splash's flailing grew more frenzied.

"It's okay," he said in his most soothing tones. "No one's going to hurt you. Just calm down and let me help."

The flailing slowed.

In the distance, he heard Neal take a sharp breath. No wonder. What he'd been saying to Splash was eerily similar to what he'd said when he'd found a runaway Neal sick and shivering in an abandoned warehouse with a bunch of other homeless kids. Neal had needed help but was too feverish and scared to accept it at first.

"My name's Henry. I've been living alone for a while, and I could use a friend. I think maybe you could use a friend right now too, huh?"

She howled in frustration.

"You're a singer? Me, too. The right song can make you feel better. There are some great songs about animals. Do you know this one?" He started singing _Blackbird_. He wished he had his guitar, but did a decent rendition without accompaniment. After the first verse, Neal joined in, harmonizing softly.

Henry stayed still, simply singing, and after a couple of minutes the dog ceased struggling. Whether she was soothed by the song, or simply exhausted, he couldn't tell.

She had a lot in common with Neal when he was seventeen. He'd needed to be rescued, but didn't make it easy.

"Hey," said Neal just loudly enough to be heard.

Henry turned around, and saw Peter winding up for a pitch. He threw a pair of heavy work gloves that someone from the shelter must have brought over. Henry caught the gloves and put them on, grateful for the protection against the thorns he needed to reach through. With slow, steady movements, he pushed the branches apart and reached down for Splash.

A last-minute bout of nerves had her struggling again, but he kept a firm grip, picking her up and holding her against his chest. "Good thing it's me and not Neal. He wears stuff like cashmere. My jacket's plain old cotton. All this mud will wash right out."

Her shivering turned into wriggling. At first Henry thought she wanted to be set down, but actually she was trying to climb up. He laughed as she licked his neck.

"You zoomed right in on my weakness," he murmured. "Most people take longer to figure out I'm ticklish." Tightening his grip, he stood and carried Splash toward the house.

 **Long Island Water Dog Sanctuary. Sunday afternoon. November 13, 2005.**

Peter and Neal followed as Henry carried Splash. Once they cleared the rocky terrain, the puppy resumed wriggling. Henry said something to her, and then placed her on the ground. She stared up at him until he resumed walking, and then she pranced along at his side, matching his pace.

It took a moment for Peter to get Neal's attention. "Something wrong?" he had to ask a second time.

"I didn't expect this to bring back so many memories," Neal said. "You've known Henry what, two years now?"

"We're a couple of months from that anniversary," Peter agreed.

"You've seen him in protector mode. I'd taken for granted that's who he is now. But back when he found me as a runaway in Chicago, I knew him as a nurturer. He got me to the hospital when he realized I was sick. He made sure I ate healthy meals, which was not his natural inclination."

"His words to Splash resonated with you?"

"Big time. When he was calming her down, he repeated some of the things he'd said to get me to trust him. I can imagine the adventures he was promising her when he carried her back, and it worked, just like it did with me."

"You think he's going to adopt her?"

Neal nodded. "And I think she'll insist on leaving with him."

"You have any concerns about that?"

"What? No." Neal paused. "No, I think it's a good match. I guess more than anything I'm annoyed at myself. How could I forget that side of him? I'm glad Splash is bringing it out again. And her name, that's the icing on the cake."

"I noticed your reaction to her name. What's the story behind that?"

 **Hotel room, San Antonio, TX. Friday morning. March 21, 1997.**

When Neal woke, he stretched and looked around the room. He'd been traveling with his cousin Henry for a week now, and they'd spent each night in a different place. Once it had been in their car. This was by far the most luxurious accommodation they'd had. Two beds — no need to flip a coin to see who slept on the floor.

His heart raced when he realized he was alone. Was this it? Had Henry wised up and abandoned him? He'd wondered if Henry would get tired of a kid cousin tagging along, slowing him down.

He calmed when he noticed Henry's stuff was still in the room. No way would he leave without it. Neal slid out of bed and strode toward his cousin's duffle bag. Halfway there, he paused to peek out the window beside the door. Henry's car was gone from the parking lot. That meant there was plenty of time to snoop without getting caught.

After taking a moment to pull on jeans and a t-shirt, Neal reached into the duffle bag for the envelope of photos. Henry's mom had sent them to prove that they were related. He spread them out on the carpet, seeing his mother and his aunt Noelle as young women. They were in each other's wedding photos, and in the christening photos for both Henry and Neal. He saw himself as an almost three-year-old child in holiday photos with his parents and aunts and uncles. There was even one of him with his grandparents.

Turning the photos over, he read the handwritten notes, listing dates and names. His dad was James. His mother's pre-WITSEC name was Meredith. Each time he read them, the names became a little more real.

The growl of an engine warned him that Henry's car had returned. Neal slipped the photos back into the duffle bag. Not that there was anything wrong with looking at them. Henry said he was welcome to. It's just that Neal didn't want to appear needy. He was dependent on Henry for nearly everything, and he wanted to prove that he could pull his own weight. Especially now. They'd made a deal in the hospital. As long as Neal was still seventeen, he was a minor, and he'd do what twenty-year-old Henry said. On his eighteenth birthday — today — they'd renegotiate.

"Happy birthday, kiddo!" Henry said, holding up two bags from a fast-food restaurant. "Breakfast in bed, more or less."

The breakfast they consumed picnic-style on one of the beds wasn't a gourmet meal, but in combination with Henry's cheerful chatter it was a hell of a lot better than the pizza and beer his mom had provided to celebrate the eighteenth birthday of Danny Brooks — his WITSEC identity — two weeks ago.

Neal crumpled up the wrappers and tossed them into the room's trash can. "Where're we going today?" he asked. They'd been heading south from Chicago in a zigzag pattern for the last week, but they couldn't go much further south unless Henry planned to go to Mexico. Neal had the forgery skill to create passports for them, but since Henry's Spanish was limited to a few words he'd picked up in Tex-Mex restaurants, Mexico didn't seem like a destination his cousin would pick.

"It's a surprise," said Henry.

"Huh?" Neal looked up from stuffing his things into a duffle bag that matched Henry's. Every morning Henry had made a big announcement about the day's destination — usually a city with highlights Neal would enjoy and rich tourists to con into buying them a couple of meals.

"It's your birthday," Henry said. "Eighteen is a big deal. We gotta celebrate."

"But. . ." The breakfast was more than Neal had expected. No one other than Ellen ever made a fuss over his birthdays.

"Yeah?"

"We don't have any money," Neal objected.

"I've got a stash," Henry said. "It's not much, but I keep a secret bank account for emergencies."

"A birthday isn't an emergency."

"My last one landed me in a hospital for a few days."

"You, too?" Neal asked. After the pizza and beer, his previous birthday celebration had ended with him learning he was in WITSEC, that his name wasn't Danny Brooks, and that his father wasn't a dead hero but a dirty cop accused of murder. Neal had driven away to clear his head, skidded on a slick road, and flipped his car into a lake where he'd nearly drowned. A stranger had pulled him out and resuscitated him. Waking up in the hospital, Neal made the decision to run away from home.

As a result, he'd written off his eighteenth birthday as a lost cause.

"I keep telling you," Henry said, "we have a lot in common. C'mon. We've gotta get there before the lines get too long."

 **Shopping center, New Braunfels, TX. Friday morning. March 21, 1997.**

"You're taking me shopping for my birthday?" Neal asked as Henry disentangled a cart at the entrance of a big box store.

"Smart ass," Henry replied. He scanned the signs suspended from the ceiling and pushed the cart toward aisle three.

"Like you keep saying, we have a lot in common."

"We need supplies. Sunscreen, first. And yell if you see cheap sunglasses."

"ZZ Top," Neal said. They'd made a game of inserting song titles or lyrics into conversation and seeing if the other would notice. Naming the artist got you a point. If he'd remembered the album name that would have been two points.

Right now Henry was ahead, but only by a handful of points. Neal had been in the lead yesterday and had no doubt he'd catch up again.

When they checked out a few minutes later, they had sunscreen, sunglasses, swim trunks and sandals. Henry paid in cash.

"Where are we going?" Neal asked back in the car.

"We're going to Splash! ! !"

"What, like in the ocean?" They weren't far from the Gulf Coast.

"No. Splash! ! ! With three exclamation points. It's an amusement park with mostly water-themed rides."

Neal smiled. Then a moment later he tried to look more serious. Maybe just kids were supposed to be excited about amusement parks. He'd only been to one once, when he was twelve, and he'd loved it. But he was eighteen now. A grown up.

Henry merged into the traffic and mentioned, "I went there on spring break my freshman year at UT. I had a blast."

Neal relaxed. "How'd you guess I'd enjoy it? Just because we 'have a lot in common'?" He put the oft-repeated words in air quotes.

"I was majoring in psychology, you know. And I was an apprentice investigator at Win-Win. I have skills." Henry said it with such grandeur that Neal had to snort in response. "Over the last week I've carefully led the conversation and gathered information. It seemed random, but I was building a profile that told me exactly what you'd like for your birthday."

"Uh-huh." Neal peppered his tone with doubt, but didn't bother to hide his grin.

Several hours later, soaking wet, and on an adrenaline high from the rides, Neal thought he'd laughed more in one day than he had in the last year. He pushed away the hair that was hanging over his eyes and scrambled out of the pool at the bottom of a waterslide designed to emulate a rollercoaster. "Awesome," he said.

"Time to eat," Henry declared, leading the way to a row of food concessions. Up until today, Henry had been conscientious about seeking out healthy food, concerned about keeping Neal well after his bout of pneumonia. Birthdays appeared to be a day off from balanced meals.

Garish signs advertised cotton candy, funnel cakes, shaved ice, corn dogs, and deep-fried everything. It was more junk food than Neal had ever seen in one place. The scent of a roasted turkey leg made his mouth water.

They carried their food to a seating area, eating near a platform for performers. Jugglers, actors and singers provided entertainment while the guests consumed their meals. Henry pointed out which musicians were the best and why.

A guitarist overheard him. "Sounds like you know a bit about music. Do you play?" she asked.

Henry shrugged. "Took piano lessons as a kid, then moved on to guitar."

"Want to give it a try?" The musician patted her guitar.

"Sure." After strumming a few chords and humming a tune, he started playing "Hold My Hand," by Hootie and the Blowfish. As he wrapped up the intro he grinned at Neal and burst into song.

Neal already knew that Henry had a strong voice when it came to singing along with the radio, but hadn't realized his cousin would sound so professional singing solo. People around them stopped talking to listen. It was a warm, happy day, and his usual cares and concerns had melted away in the sun. Neal wanted to have as much fun as Henry clearly was. When Henry reached the chorus, Neal harmonized, as he'd often done in the car.

At a break before the next verse, Henry asked in a low voice, "You want to try the guitar?"

Neal nodded. He'd learned to play this song when it was a hit three years ago. Henry handed off the instrument and started drumming on the picnic table while Neal picked up the melody. Two more of the entertainers joined in, adding their voices and another guitar to the mix. When the song ended they received a generous round of applause. Neal returned the guitar to its owner and thanked her for letting them borrow it.

She complimented their performance and added, "If you want a reference for a job here, tell them Zhilan sent you."

After she left, Henry looked thoughtful. "Going to take her up on it?" Neal asked.

"Maybe later. We've got some other stuff we need to do first."

"Like what?"

Before Henry could answer, a group of musicians and dancers started performing the Macarena and coaxed guests out of their seats to join in.

Neal had already heard Henry's opinion of the dance. " _Looks like someone checking their pockets for their car keys_ ," he'd scoffed a few days ago. But it was his birthday, and the dancers looked joyful, and Neal stopped worrying about what his cousin might think of him and joined the dance.

To Neal's surprise, Henry jumped in and obviously knew the moves.

Laughing as they returned to their table, Neal said, "You told me the Macarena was silly."

"Totally," Henry agreed. "There's a time and place for being silly, and then you really gotta go for it. No holding back." He took a swig from a water bottle. "Plus, our grandmother danced in her Hollywood days. She'd have dragged us out of our seats to dance with her if she'd been here."

"What were some of her movies?"

"Oh, man. You don't know? You've heard of Irene Randolph, right?"

"Wait. _She's_ our grandmother?"

"You've got a lot to learn, kiddo."

Back in the car a few hours later, Neal said, "Thanks, man. That's the best birthday since. . ." Thinking over the last several years, he said, "Ever. That was fun."

"Oh, you liked it? I couldn't tell. I was distracted by all the smiling and laughing and shouting."

"Yeah, you were making so much noise I wasn't sure if you noticed me."

Henry chuckled. "Hard to miss. I invented a new term for it: splash-happy. On my measure of fun and happiness, splash-happy is now the top of the scale."

"Definitely top of the scale," Neal agreed.

After a few moments of driving in silence, Henry said, "You're officially eighteen. An adult. What you do now is up to you, but I hope you'll stick around." He paused to let Neal think about it. "You up for it? I can promise you a year of chaos and a few splash-happy moments along the way."

"Bring it on," Neal said.

 **Long Island Water Dog Sanctuary. Sunday afternoon. November 13, 2005.**

After Splash had a bath, Peter volunteered to help load supplies into Henry's car. El and Neal kept the dogs out of their way.

Peter stuffed a dog bed on top of the bags of dog food in the back seat. "Neal's been telling me about his eighteenth birthday, and going to Splash! ! !"

"Hell of a coincidence that I'm adopting a dog named Splash, right?" Henry closed the trunk.

"Not really. You came to a shelter known for rescuing Water Dog breeds. It's a good bet she loves to swim and splash around." Peter grabbed hold of Henry's arm to keep him from walking back to the others. "And here's another thing I don't believe is a coincidence: you took Neal to a waterpark a couple of weeks after his car went into the lake."

Henry stopped watching his new pet scampering with Satchmo and gave Peter his full attention. "I'd learned that Neal thought swimming was relaxing, but he never seemed inclined to hang out at the hotel pools. I wanted to give him happy memories of being in the water, to counteract any phobias he might have been developing."

"Did he ever realize that's what you'd done?"

"I avoided making that connection in our conversations back then. I doubt he's thought about it much recently."

"It's been eight years. I think you should tell him." Remembering Neal's comment about Henry as a nurturer, Peter added, "He'd like to know."

Henry shrugged.

"Did you take the musician up on her offer to give you a reference?"

"Yeah. We dropped in the next two summers. Made some good money, and got a discount on the rides." Henry crouched and clapped his hands. "Splash! Here, girl!"

She dashed over and he scooped her up. Satchmo followed and ran a circle around them.

El and Neal arrived at a more leisurely pace. "She's a sweetheart," El said.

"Let me guess, you've offered to dog sit if Henry needs to travel?"

El took her husband's hand. "You know me well."

"Henry, I've been wondering about something," Peter said. "That accident you had bungee jumping on your twentieth birthday, where the rope snapped and you nearly drowned, that was about six months before you tracked down Neal. Had you gone swimming since then?"

It was subtle, but Henry tightened his grip on Splash. "No."

"Why not? Shouldn't you have faced that fear right away?"

"Probably, but it's easier with a friend."

Neal's eyes widened as he started making connections. "You picked a waterpark for my birthday celebration to make sure I was okay after the drowning. And to face your own fears at the same time."

"We had a lot in common." Henry leaned against his car, Splash resting in his arms. "I'd been worried I might freak out. My accident had been at another waterpark, and up until then I'd loved swimming and whitewater rafting. I knew with you along I'd be distracted from my own fears."

"And braver," said Neal. "You always made a point of being unfazed by anything when I was watching."

"You tend to think I did you a big favor, bringing you along on my travels back then. You didn't realize how much you were helping me. I grew into a better, stronger version of myself because of you. And not just because we were competitive."

"Is the Splash! ! ! park still in business?" Peter asked.

Henry nodded. "It's changed hands and names a couple of times, but yeah, it's still there."

"Have you been back?" Neal asked.

"The summer after you headed off to Europe, I tried to recapture that splash-happy feeling. Didn't work, though. It wasn't the same going alone."

"Maybe we should go next summer," Neal suggested. "For old times' sake. Gotta give Elizabeth an excuse to keep your new puppy a few days, right?"

"For Elizabeth," Henry agreed. "I'll sacrifice my dignity and be splash-happy."

" _Dignity_. This from the guy who was doing the Macarena in his loft last week."

"I was looking for my phone!"

Peter called out a goodbye to the cousins and a command for Satchmo to follow, and they walked to the Taurus.

El squeezed Peter's hand and asked, "What's _splash-happy_?"

He squeezed back. "I've got a story to tell you when we get home. You know all those times Neal's joked about sharing the photo of me in that scruffy beard I wore undercover last year?"

El giggled. "You mean your team still hasn't seen that?"

"I thought it was just a matter of time, but now I have a plan to counter any blackmail threats. We need to find a recording of the Macarena to play, and then get photos of him dancing to it. Henry, too, for that matter."

"You should consider making a video. That would capture the dance better than mere photos."

Peter laughed. "You're hired as my accomplice."

"Accomplice?" El pretended to scowl at him. "I'm insulted. I'll have you know I'm the brains of this operation."

"You're in charge," Peter promised. And seeing her expression he added, "You're looking splash-happy yourself right now."

Satchmo barked.

"You, too, boy. We're all a splash-happy bunch today."

 _A/N: Long ago, Silbrith requested stories about Neal and Henry's travels before Neal met Peter. I'm happy to oblige at last, and grateful for her assistance as beta reader and editor for this story._

 _For Silbrith and everyone else inundated with rain from recent hurricanes, I hope this story provides happier thoughts about being in the water._

 _The waterpark is purely fictional, but on Pinterest I found inspiration in the photos of Schlitterbahn. See the Caffrey Vignettes board. I'm also writing a Puppy Love post for our blog: Penna Nomen and Silbrith Conversation, on Blogger._

 _References to past stories:_

 _Caffrey Conversation: Neal visits the place where his car slid into the lake._

 _By the Book: Neal steals Henry's wallet to stay in practice as a pickpocket._

 _Caffrey Flashback: After Neal's birthday celebration Henry asks if Neal is up for another year of chaos._

 _Caffrey Disclosure: Neal learns who the "stranger" was who saved him from drowning. And later at Henry's birthday party they share carnival food like funnel cakes._

 _Spring Break vignette & Homecoming vignette: Henry had a dog named Lulu._


	7. Chapter 7 - Treasure Hunt

_A/N: We've written about Neal's birthdays in 2004 and 2005, but only recently settled on a date for Peter's birthday: January 11. This vignette occurs between the stories By the Book (which ended on January 9, 2004) and Caffrey Envoy (set on January 16, 2004). At this point in the AU Byron is still alive, so we can encounter him again._

 _It's been almost 4 years since By the Book was published, so in the first scene of this vignette I've included a recap of major events in that story to remind you of what was going on the characters' lives. By the Book was the third story in the series, and we have over 20 in the AU now._

 **Burke Townhouse, Brooklyn, NY. Saturday night. January 10, 2004.**

When the kitchen timer beeped, Elizabeth Burke pulled the layers of an Italian cream cake out of the oven. She would let them cool overnight and make the icing tomorrow on Peter's birthday. She made sure the cakes were safely out of reach — it was amazing the places their puppy Satchmo could climb if they weren't careful about where they left chairs — and returned to the living room where Peter was frowning at the Agatha Christie mystery they'd paused when the timer went off.

Peter had a routine for his birthdays, including a morning run, lingering over the _New York Times_ crossword, bagels from his favorite deli, and watching a mystery with frequent pauses to discuss the clues and the detective's approach.

Usually between the bagels and the movie, Peter went to work and applied his puzzle-master brain to FBI cases, but with his birthday falling on Sunday this year, that wasn't going to be an option. When he'd declined El's offer to get tickets to a basketball game or a show, saying he "just wanted to kick back and relax" she'd decided to visit their local video rental store to pick out a bunch of mysteries to binge on throughout the weekend.

The choices had been limited. Thursday night's snowstorm had sent people to the store in droves, and most of the videos hadn't been returned yet when she stopped by this morning. She'd found a Masterpiece Theater collection of stories featuring detective Hercule Poirot, and they'd seemed like the perfect compromise. Peter would enjoy the mysteries, and she'd enjoy the period costumes and settings.

His frown had her second-guessing her selection. She sat down on the sofa beside him and picked up the remote, her finger hovering over the _eject_ button. "We don't have to keep watching it if you don't like it."

He blinked and focused on her. "Sorry, hon. I'm just distracted."

El leaned back into the sofa and studied him. "Usually you get this way when a case isn't coming together, but you're not working a case now. You wrapped up your last one Thursday and spent Friday on the paperwork."

Now a shadow of a smile emerged on Peter's face. "I'm that predictable?"

"We've been married four years. I like to think I'm an observant spouse. I just wish…" She shook her head.

"What?"

"I don't want to complain this weekend when we're supposed to be celebrating your birthday."

"Maybe my birthday wish is to learn what would make you happier," Peter suggested.

She chose her words carefully. "I wish you'd confide in me more. About things that bother you. Stuff at work, cases, anything. You don't have to shield me." Before he could protest she rushed to say, "Not the confidential parts. I understand there are things that can't be made public about your cases, but it's normal to complain about your colleagues and so forth. It seemed like we'd had a breakthrough over New Year's. You told me the story about Neal rescuing a cat while undercover…" She trailed off when Peter frowned again. "It's something about Neal, isn't it? He's what's distracting you tonight. Can you tell me about it?"

"This calls for a beer. Do you want one?" When El declined, Peter strode to the kitchen and returned with one bottle of beer, which he placed on a table beside the sofa. He remained standing, looking too wound up to sit. "All of that stuff Wednesday night… it got into my head on Thursday."

El nodded. On Wednesday night Neal Caffrey and his cousin Henry Winslow stayed over. Henry was conducting some kind of psychological experiment. Peter and Neal had known he was doing it, but from what El could glean, the experiment wasn't exactly what Henry had led them to believe.

For a month now — ever since Peter had recruited Neal and gotten him immunity for his crimes in return for a confession — Neal had jokingly referred to Peter as _Dad_. It was clear from the start that it was more than a joke. Neal wanted and needed a father figure. Peter fit what the young man had been yearning for, and was flattered to be chosen for the role. Henry raised the question of whether Peter also thought of Neal as a son, and by the end of the experiment they all knew that he did. When they went to work Thursday morning, they'd all had a happy glow and El felt like both young men had joined the Burke family.

When Peter got home Thursday night it was late and he was exhausted. He'd explained that Henry had broken his arm, leading to a detour to a hospital. El accepted that explanation for the end of the happy glow, but now she wondered what else had happened. She watched Peter expectantly, hoping he'd finally confide in her.

He was pacing the room, his jeans and beige, long-sleeve knit shirt hugging his lean form. He wasn't an athlete anymore, but he took pride in staying in shape. At the center of the room he paused, hands on his hips, and El could imagine him standing in a conference room at work, ready to give his team an overview of a new case. She sat at attention, picturing herself as one of the agents at the table.

"Thursday afternoon we ran a sting to catch a crew of thieves who were selling pharmaceuticals on the black market. I took the role of an executive at the pharmaceutical company. We caught the thieves red-handed at the pick-up location. We had the crew, the goods, and the bank account they used. Agent Wiese and I had cuffed two suspects. Neal and his cousin were in another room, recording everything. They were supposed to stay put and observe. After that New Year's Eve case landed Neal in the hospital, I wanted to ease him into undercover work by showing him how it's supposed to be done."

El refrained from saying that it wasn't Neal's fault he'd been hospitalized. He was supposed to fake an asthma attack, and an agent had sabotaged the inhaler Neal used. When Peter got home after that incident he'd been so angry he hadn't been able to keep it to himself, and he'd told her that Agent Kimberly Rice put a substance in the inhaler that made Neal's throat swell shut, ensuring he gave a convincing performance of someone who couldn't breathe. Now El nodded sympathetically. "What happened?"

"There was a third suspect I hadn't noticed. Neal ran onto the scene and jumped into the truck as the guy was making his getaway with the stolen goods." Finally Peter sat down beside her. "They were armed, El. Neal knew that both of the guys we arrested had guns on them, so it was a good bet the driver was armed, too. And sure enough, when we tracked them down, the guy grabbed Neal and held a gun to his head."

El gasped.

"Neal distracted him, and Henry and I disarmed him. Looking back, I can see it was great teamwork, but I couldn't appreciate it at the time. Once it was over, I lost it. I couldn't handle the thought of Neal continuing to put himself in that kind of situation, and I took Neal's badge and…" Peter exhaled shakily. "And I said he should be fired."

"Oh, no." She knew how much Peter wanted to turn Neal's life around. Would he really give up on him so easily? El frowned as she thought back. "But Friday morning, you drove to Riverside Drive to pick up Neal and take him to work. That wasn't just to pack up his desk, was it?"

Peter took a swig from his beer. "Did I tell you about Thomas Gardiner?" When El shook her head, he continued, "He's a legend at the FBI. I met him when I was first assigned to the Manhattan office, but less than a year later he…" He paused and looked away a moment. "He retired. He teaches law at Yale now."

 _Retired_ likely implied _injured_. It was one of her deepest fears about Peter's work, but she wouldn't dwell on it in the middle of the story he was sharing. "Did you talk to Thomas about what happened?"

"Yeah, he was there. He lives in the neighborhood where the sting happened, and we stashed the real executive and his family at the Gardiners' home during the op. Thomas convinced me that I'd overreacted." Peter met El's eyes. "He helped me understand what it's like for you, being an FBI spouse. If I've ever brushed off your concerns for my safety, I apologize. I promise you, hon, I take every precaution and I don't jump into a dangerous situation if there's an alternative that's safer. Thomas helped me realize that if I want to keep Neal safe, I need to keep him on my team and lead by example. I've reminded Neal that he has people who care about him who'd be devastated if he were seriously hurt, and I'll keep reminding him of it until it sinks in."

El placed a hand on Peter's arm. "I'm glad. I want you both thinking of the people who worry about you."

He reached out with his other arm and hugged her. When he pulled away he said, "I'm still concerned about Neal, though. He's had some crappy father figures in the past who would have bailed on him when things got rough. With his flight instinct, I can picture him deciding that he should leave before I give up on him. How do I convince him to stay and put down roots, so he's less tempted to run each time we clash?"

"Hmmm." El leaned against her husband as she thought. There were more questions she wanted to cover, like how in all of Thursday's events had Henry broken his am, but she didn't want to distract her husband from this newfound openness. "Oh." She sat up straight and looked at Peter. "Henry has a masters in psychology, and he knows Neal better than anyone. Why don't you ask him for advice?"

 **Neal's loft, Saturday night. January 10, 2004.**

Henry glanced at the number on his caller ID and made a point of grunting when he reached for the phone.

"I keep telling you to take a pain pill," Neal complained. "Where'd you leave them?"

"Downstairs," Henry answered, adding a brusqueness to his voice that could be mistaken for pain. "Hello," he said into the phone as Neal jogged downstairs. Since the pills were actually in Henry's suitcase here in the loft, Neal should be gone long enough for this conversation to be private.

He listened to Peter's concerns, smiling all the while. Peter's worries meant that Henry's conclusions about him were solid. Neal had finally found a worthy father figure. So worthy in fact, that Henry didn't even have to think up an excuse to call him, because he'd already figured out that he needed Henry's advice.

Wiping the smile from his face so his pleasure wouldn't be reflected in his voice, Henry said, "The best thing you can do is to remain a presence in Neal's life, and not just at work. Reinforce that your friendship is important and that it extends beyond the job. And I've got the perfect way to start. Are you free tomorrow morning?"

After he outlined his plan and ended the call, Henry opened his suitcase and pulled out the pill bottle. Then he stood at the top of the stairs and yelled, "Found 'em!"

He frowned at the bottle. This type of drug made him loopy, and he'd avoided taking it once he'd gotten back from the hospital, but it would be worth the sacrifice to take another dose in the morning. Tomorrow he'd be too out of it to drive, and Neal would be grateful for Peter's help.

What more could Peter ask for on his birthday, than a chance to save the day?

 **Penn Station, NYC. Sunday morning. January 11, 2004.**

Neal carried both suitcases into the train station, while his cousin trailed behind with his left arm in a cast and sling. Henry had a laptop case over his good arm, and his ticket in his hand. They both wore jeans, Henry's in classic blue, combined with a red cotton shirt and a brown bomber jacket draped over his shoulders. Neal went for a monochromatic look, with a black turtleneck under a black wool jacket.

"Pain pills are with your laptop, right?" Neal asked.

"Yeah, I got 'em." Henry scowled. "But they make me sleepy."

Neal placed the luggage on the floor when they reached the line to check in. "It's okay. Your mom's picking you up when you get to Baltimore. If you're too tired to drive, it won't matter."

"I don't like this. You taking care of me. It's supposed to be the other way 'round."

"We look after each other. This time it's my turn." Neal shoved the luggage forward a few feet as the line moved.

"Peter'll look out for you while I'm healing. I wasn't sure if I liked him at first, but I've decided he's one of the good guys."

"Uh-huh." Neal shoved the luggage again. The pain medication didn't just make Henry sleepy. He was loopy, too. Good thing Peter had volunteered to help.

"We gotta be nice to Peter today."

"Yeah, I'll be sure to thank him for taking care of your rental car."

"I could have flown back," Henry grumbled.

"And you'd have been jostled boarding and deplaning and throughout the flight. I checked last night and there weren't any first class upgrades left. In business class on the train you'll be more comfortable." Even on the train, there would be jostling to endure. Neal was grateful Henry had given in gracefully, more or less, to the suggestion to take a pain pill this morning after toughing it out yesterday. The fact that Henry had been in pain last night was probably why he'd been receptive when Peter called to see if they needed any help.

They reached the front of the line and checked Henry's luggage. Neal hung around the station for another half hour, until the train arrived.

"Remember, you gotta be nice to Peter," Henry said as he stood up.

"Yeah, you already told me. Got your ticket?"

Henry pulled his ticket back out of his laptop case. "You aren't listening. We didn't get him a card, so you gotta be nice to him. Does he like cake? Maybe you can have a slice."

Neal walked beside Henry to the doorway leading to the trains. "What are you talking about?"

"It's his birthday."

"Wait. What?"

Henry joined the line to board the train, while Neal stared after him.

 **Manhattan, NY. Sunday morning. January 11, 2004.**

After dropping off Henry's car at one of the rental agency's Manhattan locations, Peter hailed a cab. On the drive he wondered what he was getting into. By calling last night and showing up this morning, Peter had made the point that he was someone who wanted to help and could be relied on to deliver that help outside of business hours. But that wasn't enough for Henry. He wanted Peter to do more, but had been annoyingly vague about what was supposed to happen next.

El had promised she had plenty to keep her busy, with a cake to frost and a lasagna to bake for tonight, and said she didn't mind if Peter spent a few hours of his birthday with Neal. Not that Neal knew it was Peter's birthday. Peter had made it clear when he'd joined the Manhattan office that he didn't like having a fuss made over his birthday. Therefore Hughes and his assistant didn't order a cake or pass around a card to sign or give any other clues to the team.

As the cab parked in front of the Ellingtons' mansion, Peter paid the driver and slid out of the back seat. He stood on the sidewalk and weighed his choices. Walking a block to where he'd parked his car and driving home would be the easy way out. Going inside the mansion was what Henry wanted him to do, but would feel awkward. Neal wouldn't be back yet from Penn Station, because he was waiting with a conveniently loopy Henry who needed to be watched until safely onboard the train. So Peter was supposed to intrude on June and Byron, two people he barely knew?

The front door opened, and June stepped outside. "Peter, do you have a moment?" She looked as uneasy as he felt.

"Of course." He climbed the steps up to the door, where a maid stood waiting for his coat. He handed it to her with a _thank you_ , still not used to being in a house with staff for things like that. He wasn't supposed to tip her, was he?

June led the way to the parlor where her husband waited in his wheelchair. Byron looked tired, worn down by the disease that was expected to kill him within a few more weeks. Beside him was a man Peter didn't know, dressed in green coveralls with _Acres HVAC_ embroidered over the breast pocket. The coveralls were worn, with frayed edges on the cuffs, but they were impeccably clean and pressed, with a precise crease down the front of the legs.

"This is Peter Burke," June announced. "He's the FBI agent we mentioned, the one who gave our tenant Neal a second chance. You'll meet Neal shortly, and he's vouched for Peter." Turning to Peter, June added, "Jeremiah called us yesterday because his brother was roughed up. When we told Neal and Henry what had happened, Henry thought we should ask for your help. We invited Jeremiah here to convince him to talk to you."

Jeremiah stood up. He was about five years younger than Peter, and six inches shorter. "My brother has a record, and the cops in our neighborhood like to hassle him. Byron and June…" He shrugged. "They said you'll listen."

"I'll listen," Peter agreed, "but I can't turn a blind eye if your brother broke the law or violated his parole."

When they were all seated and were drinking the best coffee Peter had ever tasted, Jeremiah kicked off the discussion by explaining that his older brother — Jebediah Acres, or Jeb — used to be part of a crew with Byron, running cons and thefts. Like Byron, Jeb had been arrested and done time, and then had turned his back on his old life.

Peter's gut told him it hadn't been that simple, and it gave him an uneasy feeling about the challenges that lay ahead for Neal when his old friends came calling. The fact that Jeb had been hurt and Jeremiah was desperate for help meant something had gone wrong, something they hesitated to describe to an FBI agent. Peter hoped he wouldn't end up looking like the bad guy on his birthday, arresting Jeb after the real bad guys had already done a number on him. Sometimes in the black-and-white world of law enforcement, that's how things went. He could put in a good word with the prosecutor though, if Jeb cooperated.

"I own the business," Jeremiah explained, gesturing to the name on his coveralls. "When no one else would hire an ex-con, Jeb worked for me. He hated asking for help, and didn't really like working on furnaces, but he settled into it. Sometimes he'd hang with friends from the old days, but he promised they were just talking. He doesn't break into places anymore."

"He was never all that good at it, anyway," Byron added. "Couldn't crack a safe or even pick a pocket without getting caught no matter how many times I tried to teach him. But you could trust him. At the end of a heist he'd hide the loot for us and we knew he wouldn't take it and run. The money was always there when the heat was gone and it was time to split it up."

Byron continued talking for a while, introducing a little levity with stories about Jeb, and glancing toward the hallway occasionally. It didn't take an FBI agent to figure out he was stalling until Neal arrived.

Peter let him stall, because he could tell where Jeremiah's story was heading. Jeb's troubles were a cautionary tale for someone tempted to keep his hand in his old life while turning over a new leaf. Neal needed to hear the results of Jeb's actions, and how the repercussions impacted his family.

When Neal arrived, Byron introduced him to Jeremiah while June refilled everyone's coffee. Even though Neal had already heard most of the story last night, it was different witnessing Jeremiah's pain in person. That made it more real, in much the same way that meeting a victim made a bigger impact than reading a case file.

Byron nodded at Peter, who turned to Jeremiah and said, "You think someone tried to force Jeb to reveal where some old loot was hidden."

Jeremiah nodded. "Or not so old. His friends pressured him to hide stuff for 'em. They'd promise him a cut, and he said he wanted to use the money to pay me back." Jeremiah closed his eyes and bowed his head. "He's been doing it for years, and I made it easy for him. My company has keys to lots of buildings in the city. I assigned businesses to him, places I never even visit unless there's an emergency and he's not around." He looked up again. "I wanted him to know I trusted him."

"How'd you find out what he was doing?" Neal asked.

Jeremiah's voice was rough now, and full of emotion. "Found him unconscious in the alley behind our office yesterday afternoon. Someone'd beaten him up bad. He came 'round before the ambulance got there and confessed. Told me where he kept the list of what he hid and the hiding places." Tears had gathered in Jeremiah's eyes. "He's not gonna make it. The doctors say they can't fix the damage, and he won't last more than a few days. He's scared that people will come after me and my family. That they'll hurt us, too, to find out where he hid their loot."

"Must be tempting to take it and run," Bryon said. "With everything he hid, you could set your family up for life someplace else. Jeb suggested it, didn't he?"

"Yeah. He knew I couldn't do it, though. That's not the example I'm setting for my kids."

"You could recover the loot yourself, leave it someplace, and call the cops with an anonymous tip?" Neal suggested. Peter supposed it was a good sign that Neal's thought was to turn over the loot, even if the method wasn't what the Bureau would sanction.

"That's what I had in mind when I called Byron for help. I didn't know…" Jeremiah looked regretfully at the wheelchair.

"I'm not up to that kind of thing anymore," Byron said.

Peter saw the smile tugging at Neal's lips and asked him, "You think you could have gotten away with it?"

Neal nodded. "If Henry hadn't been slowed down with the broken arm, we could have pulled it off together. It was tempting to partner with someone else, but I didn't want to leave Henry alone. He was in a lot of pain last night."

"He wasn't in any pain," Peter said, as the scope of Henry's plan became clear to him. Crafty devil, manipulating them all behind the scenes.

"What?" Neal still didn't know he'd been conned by his cousin.

"He was faking it, to keep you out of this. To make sure you didn't jump into a course of action that could get you arrested. Tell me something. When you considered who you could partner with for this, did my name even cross your mind?"

"Yeah, for a moment maybe, but I didn't see how that could work."

"Challenge issued and accepted," Peter replied. "I'm going to show you how to save the day without breaking the law."

 **Hospital. Sunday morning. January 11, 2004.**

"My plan wasn't exactly illegal," Neal had protested.

"Breaking and entering," Peter countered.

"Jeremiah has the keys."

"Permission to use those keys extends to his employees, which you are not. And you'd be tampering with evidence."

Their debate ended when Peter parked at the hospital, where they took an official statement from Jebediah Acres. Jeb admitted to using buildings belonging to his brother's clients to store loot from several crimes over the years, and said five caches still remained hidden.

Peter handed a camera to Neal, to document Jeb's injuries. Neal guessed it was Peter's goal to impress on him how dangerous it was to stay involved with his old partners in crime. It was certainly sobering, especially when he recognized the name of the person who'd beaten Jeb. "Yeah, Wilkes is bad news," Neal said as he handed the camera back to Peter. "He's certainly capable of double-crossing his partners for their take, and hurting other people in the process."

"Chances are he's already collected the jewels Jeb hid for his crew, but I've got the police checking it out, and they're on the lookout for Wilkes," Peter said. "That leaves four more locations for us to check, and we're doing this by the book."

Going by the book meant a long lunch break while they waited for approval to collect the loot. Peter filled in his boss and then called members of his team to help. Jones, Tricia and Badillo contacted the owners of the buildings to get their permission for a team to enter their premises.

Neal recommended bringing a reporter along. It would look impressive for the FBI to be seen recovering stolen goods from multiple major thefts, and more importantly it would quickly get the word out to the public that the goods were in the hands of the Feds. That way the Acres family should be safe from criminals desperate to collect their loot when word of Jeb's impending death spread.

Peter embraced the idea, and consulted with Hughes on which reporter would be best. They settled on Fayza Al-Razi, an up-and-coming crime reporter at a local television station. She and a cameraman met them at the first location. As both Peter and Neal intended to continue undercover work, neither of them went on camera. Instead they invited Tricia Wiese to act as the face of the FBI.

Following the instructions in Jeb's log of hiding places, Tricia led them to the roof of a hotel. Jeremiah pried open one of the massive air-conditioning units. He noted that the unit wasn't connected to the wiring, and then lifted out part of the mechanism. Wearing latex gloves, Tricia retrieved what looked like a tool box, and opened it to reveal Krugerrands as the news team watched.

Fayza gave her cameraman a high-five. "We're going to be the lead story tonight!" she declared. "Let's get going. I want to hit all four locations and edit the footage before the five o'clock news."

Carmen Fuentes, head of the FBI's New York Evidence Response Team unit, gave instructions to two of her team members. They would document exactly what was found and where, and then take the gold back to the Federal Building, where they would look for prints on the gold pieces. That would help them corroborate the names Jeb had listed as the members of the crew who had planned to retrieve the gold when they were released from prison for stealing it.

In the second location, Tricia led the way to the basement of an apartment building, where she unlocked a utility room. Directing her flashlight at a furnace that groaned like an otherworldly creature, they saw a metal box welded to the back. Jeremiah used his tools to open the box, revealing a cache of stunning diamonds. Two more of Carmen's team members took possession of the box and started to process the scene.

Before leaving for the third location, Tricia pulled Peter aside, out of earshot of the news team. "Do you remember the manhunt after the Federal Reserve heist a few months ago?"

His eyes widened. "You think that money is what's waiting for us at the next location?"

"Everything in Jeb's notes fits. The amount of money, the timing of when he hid it. He named David Lawrence as the person who owns this stash, and he was our prime suspect. This isn't like the rest of the loot. It's bulky, and we'll need an armored truck to transport it."

"Good point. Let's make that our last destination, to give us more time to prepare. Call Hughes about the truck. I'll get Jones and Badillo to meet us. They helped with the paperwork; seems only fair they should get to enjoy part of the treasure hunt."

Tricia's eyes were shining. She bit her lip and then asked, "Would it be okay to bring my sons? They never get to see me work, and this… this is going to be spectacular."

Peter thought it over. "I guess it's safe enough for civilians. David Lawrence fled the country months ago, and doesn't know where the money is hidden."

Tricia checked her notes. "Actually, Lawrence does know. He insisted on it, and since he didn't have a crew to split the money among, Jeb went along with it. But you're right, Lawrence can't get here to stop us, and I can't imagine he trusted anyone else with the location of the cash."

"Fayza," Peter called out as the reporter and her crew loaded their equipment into the news van. "Change in plans. Our next stop is the warehouse on the river, and we'll end in Chelsea."

"Sure." She walked over. "With the footage I'm getting this afternoon, I'm willing to be flexible."

"One other thing," Peter said. "We're inviting some people to join us in Chelsea. They were affected by the guy who stole the loot hidden there, and we'd like them to see it recovered. We don't want them on camera."

Fayza pursed her lips. "I hate losing reaction shots, but let's face it, in this case the money shot is, well, the money. I'm okay with it."

After Fayza walked away, Neal asked Tricia, "How was your family affected by Lawrence?"

"I worked unbelievable overtime searching for him and the money he stole. Celebrating with my family that he'll never see that money again, that's payback."

Peter nodded. "Speaking of which, I need to call El. She deserves payback, too." He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

When they entered the warehouse on the river, Tricia looked around and groaned. "I thought there'd be a staircase, or a ladder. The container is on the third rafter." She pointed with her flashlight, the light barely making a dent in the darkness so far above.

"Is it welded to the rafter?" Neal asked.

"No. The container is small enough that it rests on one of the purlins. Jeb called it a Z-section in his notes."

Jeremiah nodded. "This way." He adjusted the angle of the flashlight. "Fourth one."

The warehouse was used to store auto parts, and the shelves were strong and steady to bear the weight. "Do you have extra gloves?" Neal asked, and Tricia handed him a set of latex gloves. He pulled them on, and put his outdoor gloves over them to protect them from getting torn. Looking at Fayza he said, "I'll pull up the hood on my jacket. Try to avoid recording my face, okay?"

She nodded and then Neal stepped onto the first shelf under the point where the third rafter met the fourth purlin.

"What are doing?" Peter called out.

Neal kept scaling the shelves, with the news crew shining a light on him. He pulled himself onto the top shelf and stood up. The cameraman's light moved to illuminate a gray tube about the length of a roll of wrapping paper but wider, resting on the steel purlin. Neal put his winter gloves in his jacket pockets, ready to make his grab for the tube. Standing on tiptoes, he reached up. With one hand he held the purlin, and with the other he reached for the tube. It started to fall and he leaned over to catch it, hanging from the purlin by one hand as his feet left the shelf. With the tube secure, he let go of the purlin, landing on the top shelf. He slid the tube down the back of his jacket to hold it in place and climbed back down.

With his back to the camera, Neal freed the tube from his jacket and handed it to Tricia. She popped one of the ends open and looked inside. "We're not in Kansas anymore." She tilted the tube and two sparkly, ruby slippers slid out. "I'd read that a pair of shoes used in filming The Wizard of Oz were stolen from a museum recently." She held the shoes up in her latex-gloved hands for the cameraman and answered questions from Fayza before turning the shoes over to another member of Carmen's team.

On their way out, Tricia shook her head and Neal asked, "Something wrong?"

"I kept wondering what Judy Garland's shoe size was."

"Tempted to try them on?"

She nodded.

"What's the big deal? Back when Peter recruited me, I offered to help find a stolen Aston Martin from the Bond movies if I could drive it afterward. He wouldn't go for it."

"We're professionals. We're not supposed to play with evidence." But she smiled as she said it.

On the way back to Peter's car, Neal grinned at the thought of helping recover a piece of pop culture. It was something Henry would find more interesting than a cache of gold or diamonds, and he looked forward to telling his cousin about recovering Dorothy's shoes. And Neal wasn't the only one having fun. On the drive to the final location, Neal noticed Peter's satisfied expression and admitted, "Taking the legal route was more fun than I expected."

"And we make a good team. The way you clambered up to that hiding spot still has me scratching my head. Where did you learn to do that?"

"A few escapades in Europe," Neal said. "Someone I worked with liked to approach things from above and hide things up high."

"You didn't say much about Europe in your confession. Is that going to come back to bite us?"

 _Us_. Neal liked the sound of that. "Not as long as our jurisdiction remains limited to the States. Speaking of ancient history, I'm glad I could come along for your birthday adventure."

"Hey, I'm not ancient!" Peter paused. "How'd you know it was my birthday? I thought I'd managed to keep that a secret."

"It's one of the details I came across when I learned you were leading the team looking for me. 'Know your enemy,' as Mozzie would say. He loves quoting _The Art of War_. I did some research."

"You did the research, or Henry?"

"I may have asked Henry to use his Win-Win resources on my behalf occasionally. With everything going on the last few days it slipped my mind, but he reminded me at the train station. If you're right about him faking the pain last night, I gotta think this was part of his plan. He'd love the idea of sending us on a treasure hunt."

"A little father-figure and son bonding time?" Peter pulled into a parking space. "I hope you're enjoying the treasure hunt as much as I am, but don't forget the lesson from this morning. You've got some dangerous people in your past, and the best way to stay safe from them is to work with me, not against me. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it."

With that out of the way, Peter smiled again. "El's going to love hearing about the ruby slippers. She'll enjoy that more than finding the gold."

Neal laughed. "We're both mentally spinning the stories we're going to tell about this. I'm planning to make Henry regret that he didn't stick around another day to help out."

At the Chelsea Fencing Club, Jeremiah, Peter, Tricia, Carmen, and Neal were joined by Jones, Badillo, Trica's sons, and El. The room where the members socialized was half the size of a basketball court, with wide windows and a high ceiling over a hardwood floor.

Not wanting to interrupt the proceedings, Neal didn't mention that he'd fenced here a few times under his Gary Rydell alias. In fact, he'd practiced with David Lawrence a few times, and was a little miffed that Lawrence hadn't invited him to join the Federal Reserve heist.

He looked at the foils and sabres and wondered if he could find time to practice again. Working a legitimate job and preparing for the Masterson con didn't leave much time for other hobbies. Maybe he could come back here in the summer.

As everyone gathered, Fayza interviewed Jeremiah, who gave an emotional statement about his brother. "I wish he'd confided in me. We could have found an answer. I know we could have. There's only one way out for him now. At least before he dies he'll know that the people who did this to him will pay. They'll never see the loot they made him hide, and the FBI knows who they are. I hope they rot in jail, every last one of them."

Neal flinched at those words. He rarely thought of his own crimes as hurting anyone, and assumed his victims didn't take the losses personally. Most had insurance and could simply buy a new toy or piece of artwork to replace what he'd taken, assuming they even noticed the loss. In many instances he'd left magnificent forgeries. Did any of his victims or former partners in crime feel Jeremiah's level of anger toward him? It was disconcerting to consider.

Tricia took the spotlight next, describing to Fayza what they believed was hidden behind two of the vents in this room. They'd looked with binoculars and had seen the distinctive green of American currency behind those vents, proving that Lawrence hadn't already returned to recover his loot without Jeb's knowledge.

It raised the question of whether Lawrence had influenced Wilkes. Convince a criminal with anger issues to kill the one person who knows where your loot is hidden? Neal's hands curled into fists.

Tricia handed a remote to Fayza. "The thief who hid his money here had a strong sense of drama. This will redirect the airflow to those blocked vents and shower us with money. Care to do the honors?"

A delighted Fayza pressed the button. The vents were only loosely attached, and blew out into the room as sixty million dollars filled the air like confetti over a parade. El and Tricia's kids squealed, as did Fayza, who laughed and applauded in front of the camera.

El took Peter's hand and squeezed it. "Thanks, hon. It's fantastic to witness this part of your work in person."

He beamed at her and said, "Let's call my folks, and tell them to record the news tonight. Even if I'm not shown, they can know it's my case."

"Who says you can't be in the picture?" El tugged at his hand. "C'mon. It's still raining money, and we'll be a blur between the bills if we run. Race you!" She winked at Neal.

Neal ran after them, jumping on a pile that had accumulated on the floor and letting his momentum carry him as if he were surfing. Tricia's kids followed, and Badillo lay on the floor making the equivalent of snow angels in the carpet of money. Jones had left to bring in bags for carrying the cash out to the armored truck, and he gawked at the antics of his coworkers while the news team packed up and left to meet their deadline for the evening news. "What's going on?" he asked, as Tricia threw money at him. "There could be fingerprints on that."

"Nope," she said. "Jeb said in his notes that Lawrence always handled the money with gloves, but he did help set up the ventilation bypass with his bare hands. Turns out Jeb thought Lawrence was a jerk and made sure he left evidence in case he tried to pull a double-cross." She waved to Carmen, who was examining the vents that had fallen to the floor. "How's it looking, Carmen?" she asked.

Carmen waved back. "Multiple full and partial prints. We'll nail this guy."

While Carmen completed her work, everyone else started stuffing cash into the bags Jones had brought. The agents told stories about old FBI cases and unusual places where loot had been found.

"You're quiet," El said to Neal.

"Don't want to incriminate myself," he quipped as he gathered money into stacks around him. He paused and met her eyes. "But I'm giving a lot of thought to incriminating other people — like the guy who stole this money, and the one who hurt Jeb. When we're done here, I'll tell Peter what I know about them."

"Good," El said. "It's the right thing to do, and it'll make Peter proud."

"Seems like the least I can do, for his birthday. I'd forgotten about it. Didn't even get him a card." Neal shrugged. "I don't really do birthdays, you know? Henry always plans something for mine, so I try to top that when his birthday rolls around, but that's it."

El stuffed another handful of cash into a bag. "There might be something else you could do. I noticed you have a lovely singing voice."

Neal shrugged.

"There's a big slice of homemade Italian cream cake waiting for you at the house if you'll lead this group in singing the birthday song for Peter."

"I assumed Peter's the type who hates that. He didn't let on about his birthday at the office."

"True. He'll squirm and complain and be uncomfortable, but a part of him will be pleased, especially if you initiate it."

Neal nodded and carried a bag of cash to where Jones was collecting them, and he spoke to everyone except Peter on his way back to El. With his accomplices lined up, he belted out the first line. "Happy Birthday to you!"

Peter glared at Neal as everyone else joined in for the next line.

El went solo for "Happy Birthday, dear Peter!"

They all added their voices for the final line. Tricia's boys yelled and cheered, and the adults applauded.

"Thank you, Neal," El said. A moment later she frowned.

"What's wrong?" Neal asked her.

"How will we ever top this next year?"

 _A/N: I've enjoyed going back in time to January 2004 and reflecting on how far the characters have come since then._

 _I wouldn't be surprised to learn serious protocols were broken by bringing civilians to the reveal of the last hiding place. I hope you'll forgive me in the name of birthday fluff. Also, the ruby slippers were really stolen from a museum after this story takes place, but they were simply too good to pass up._

 _You may have recognized references to White Collar episode On Guard, which featured thief David Lawrence and the cash he hid at the fencing club. Wilkes appeared in the episode Front Man. I also reference the Judgment Day episode where Neal carries and bobbles a tube containing a priceless painting. There are a few Easter eggs pointing forward to Silbrith's stories, where she describes Neal's adventures in Europe and his comfort (and occasional discomfort) with heights._

 _See our blog (Penna Nomen and Silbrith Conversation) for an updated list of stories in order, with each vignette broken out separately. I've also posted "Novel progress: selecting the starting point" which describes challenges in starting my novel and related challenges starting this vignette. I've also added pins for this story to the Caffrey Vignettes Pinterest board._

 _Thanks for reading! And thanks to Silbrith for beta services. She will start posting her next story in a few days, and it's going to be a doozy._


	8. Chapter 8 - Wish on a Star

_Chapter description: The White Collar team tries to surprise Peter on his birthday, while also helping a dying mother reconnect with her young children._

 _A/N: Happy (almost) New Year! We've decided that Peter's birthday is in early January, a time when many people reflect on the past and plan for the future. As such, I took this vignette down a poignant path. There's an OC who's dying (trigger warning), and several of our Caffrey Conversation characters recall loved ones they've lost. There's humor, too, as the White Collar team conspires to surprise Peter with a birthday celebration. He's not an easy person to surprise!_

 _This vignette occurs in January 2005, between Caffrey Aloha and The Dreamer._

 **Federal Building, Manhattan, NY. January 03, 2005. Monday morning.**

When Agent Diana Berrigan strode into the White Collar team's bullpen, she saw fellow agents Jones and Travis in conversation in the breakroom. She waved at them on the way to her desk, and when her laptop was booting up she joined them. "Happy New Year," she said as she poured a cup of coffee.

They returned the greeting. "Tricia sent us a message," Travis told her. "Last night she wrote an email to the three of us."

Diana raised a brow. Tricia was her mentor when Diana joined the White Collar team, but had been away the last two months training for a new role. "Isn't she on another team starting today?"

Jones nodded. "She said her last official act as a member of Peter's team was to remind us his birthday is next week. If we want to plan a surprise, we should do it before he gets back from Hawaii."

"What did you do last year?" Diana asked.

What followed was a nearly unbelievable story about a dying criminal who had specialized in hiding caches of stolen items for thieves. Apparently on Peter's last birthday, with prompting from friends of Neal's, the criminal turned over his list of hiding places and a treasure hunt ensued, ending with the discovery of $60 million that had been stolen from the Federal Reserve.

As Jones wrapped up the story, Diana shook her head. "So you're saying we need to do more than buy a cake."

 **Honolulu International Airport. January 06, 2005. Thursday.**

"Your birthday is right around the corner," Betty Burke said to her son as they walked toward their gate.

It was hard for Peter to believe it was less than a week until his birthday. In warm and sunny Hawaii, it simply didn't feel like January. But the weight of his winter coat in his carry-on bag was a constant reminder that he was on his way back home to New York. "Here we are," he said, and led the way to a set of open seats at their gate.

In addition to Peter, his wife Elizabeth and his parents, their group included several Caffreys and Winslows who had gathered in Hawaii for a wedding that united the Burke and Caffrey families. The newlyweds were staying on the islands for their honeymoon, but the guests needed to return to the real world.

Betty sat beside Peter and Elizabeth and asked, "Have you made any plans yet?"

Peter shrugged. "I like to relax on my birthday, and it's on a Tuesday this year so there isn't time to do much. Something Italian for dinner and watching a mystery is all I have in mind."

"We'll have a cake," El added.

"Are you sure you don't want to do anything more than that?" Betty persisted. "I always feel bad for people whose birthdays fall in January. After Christmas and New Year's their families tend not to have the energy or money for another party, and it doesn't seem fair."

"You always planned something big when I was a kid," Peter remembered with a smile. "Skiing trips, hockey games, horseback riding, epic snowball fights with all the neighborhood kids."

"Until you turned fourteen." Betty sighed. "After that you always wanted a quiet birthday."

El cast a puzzled look in Peter's direction. He'd never told her about that birthday. With a glance toward Neal Caffrey, Peter took a page out of the former con artist's book and deflected. "Last year wasn't quiet." He spent a solid twenty minutes describing his previous birthday, even though he'd already told his mom all about it a year ago. When he finished retelling the story, he abruptly announced he wanted a cup of coffee and left the gate.

But on the flight back to New York, when Peter's parents were napping in the row behind them, El asked in a low voice, "What happened on your fourteenth birthday?"

"It's a long and depressing story. I'd rather not tell it on the plane."

El glanced back at her mother-in-law and said, "Whatever it was, I think your mom wishes you'd talk to her about it."

Peter felt chilled, and reached up to adjust the air flow. "There's nothing she could have done."

"Maybe she needs to hear you say that. Or maybe there's something she needs to tell you. Whatever it is, she looked hurt when you changed the subject." El ended there, but her feelings were written all over her face. She was surprised — and disappointed — at how he'd shut down the conversation his mother clearly wanted to have.

Peter felt abashed that he'd reacted as if he were still a teenager. He was nearly forty now and needed to act like it. "It's not exactly a discussion for an airplane, and we won't have a lot of time in the airport before my folks leave for Albany. Next time we're together I'll ask her if there's something she wants to discuss about that birthday."

El looked satisfied, and Peter was glad she let the subject drop. He wished he were better at talking about this kind of stuff.

 **Federal Building, Manhattan, NY. January 07, 2005. Friday morning.**

"Here already?" Diana stopped at Neal's desk on the way to her own. It looked like he'd been in the office for a while. His cup of coffee was nearly empty.

He nodded. "Our flight landed around dawn, and I thought if I tried to sleep I wouldn't be able to wake up again before noon. I only went home long enough to take a shower and put on a suit."

Diana stole a glance in the direction of Peter's office. He was there, with the door closed. That meant it was safe to talk about their plans. "Jones and Travis and I are trying to arrange something for Peter's birthday, but so far our ideas have been pretty lame. We could use your help."

Neal grinned. "There was an email from Travis waiting for me when I logged on this morning. He said you wanted to plan a surprise. The trick will be coordinating something without making Peter suspicious."

Beeps sounded from laptops throughout the bullpen as meeting reminders popped up on computers. Time to head up to the morning briefing. "Do you have any suggestions for how we avoid that?" Diana asked.

Neal stood up. "The best way to keep Peter from guessing we're colluding is if he assigns us to work together. Fortunately I read Travis' email before Peter asked me to help him sort the latest case files. I can guarantee Peter will ask us to make updates to our reports on our last big case."

"What did you do?" Diana asked, but it was too late. Neal slipped away and chatted with Agent Badillo as they strolled toward the conference room. Maybe that was for the best. The pause to drop her laptop at her desk and to take off her winter coat meant she didn't walk into the meeting with Neal. She didn't want to make it obvious they were conspiring.

At nearly every morning briefing, Peter had a stack of case files on the table beside him. Some were new cases to be assigned. Others were completed cases. During the meeting he doled out the new cases, and at the end he let his team members know if they needed to update their documentation on completed cases before they could be officially closed. Today, he returned files to Jones, Travis, Neal and Diana, with instructions to make updates as soon as possible. "It's been nearly a month since we made the arrests in the Samurai bonds case. Even with Neal's injury and the holidays, we should have closed this one out by now. Remember, if it happened in the field — "

"It happens in the file," Diana and several others repeated the mantra along with Peter.

He slid the case files across the table to the four of them. Diana opened hers and frowned at the notes from her boss. Missing pages? She thumbed through her write-up, which was indeed missing the last two of the five pages she'd written. Since she wasn't careless enough to miss printing and including pages of her report, she knew this was Caffrey's doing. When was the Bureau going to move out of the dark ages and make these files electronic, instead of printing and storing everything in the file room? Then team members couldn't sabotage each other by tearing out pages.

She looked up to see most of her fellow agents staring at her.

"Had to happen sometime," Jones said. "The streak has ended."

Until today, Peter had never asked Diana to update a report she submitted. She took pride in it, but didn't realize anyone else on the team had noticed. "Tricia taught me well," she said. She tried to sound modest, but the laughter told her she hadn't pulled it off.

"Who's going to tell Tricia her angel has fallen from grace?" asked Caffrey. Diana had thought of him as Neal earlier, but when he annoyed her, he was Caffrey. And he was seriously annoying right now.

"Yeah," Badillo added. "Tricia thought her protégé would go six months without having to revise a report. How long has it been?"

"Four months since Diana turned in her first case report at White Collar," Travis said.

"Who had four months?" Badillo asked. "The spreadsheet for the pool is back at my desk."

Diana glared at them. "You were betting on me?"

"I was down for four months." Of course it was Caffrey. He won the bet by cheating, and he'd better not think he'd get away with it.

"It was an impressive streak you had going," Peter said. "Previously the longest anyone went before getting their first returned report was three weeks."

"Wait, I went four weeks," Caffrey said.

"We don't measure it from your start date," Jones explained. "You joined the team a couple of weeks before Christmas and didn't have any real cases for another week after that. Your very first report was returned within a few days."

"Twice," Peter added. "I can't believe people complained I was going easy on you."

Caffrey nodded. "I wasn't happy about having to do those rewrites, but the practice getting my reports perfect helped when I started writing papers for grad school." He cocked his head and looked at Jones. "How long did you go?"

"A couple of weeks," Jones admitted.

Diana's eyes widened. "No way. Harvard Law had to rewrite a report within two weeks, and I lasted four months?"

"You had a mentor," Jones explained. "I didn't."

Peter chuckled. "At least Jones has the honor of being the only person who's had to rewrite a report because it was too verbose. Usually I'm begging people to add more detail." He stood up. "The rest of you could take lessons from Diana. We might want to schedule a workshop on case reports. It could be good training for the team."

Everyone groaned.

"In fact, why don't you practice now? All four of you had gaps in your report for the same case. Get Diana's feedback, so I don't have to return them again."

"I guess it will go faster if we make the corrections together," Diana conceded. "I'll see if there's a conference room open."

"We could use the lab," Travis volunteered. "No one was in there this morning."

With that, the team dispersed. Peter and the others returned to their desks, while Diana, Jones and Caffrey followed Travis to the lab. All of them pulled chairs over to Travis' workstation, except Caffrey, who was poking around a storage space. "Get over here, Caffrey," Diana ordered.

He complied, but as he sat down he asked Travis, "Is anyone using that corner?"

Travis shook his head. "Did you have a use in mind for it?"

"It could be a perfect niche for authentications," Caffrey said. "I've been doing that more frequently, and it would help to have a dedicated space."

"Save it for later," Diana said. "We can't waste time or Peter will be suspicious."

"Fortunately for us Peter believes it was his idea for us to meet this morning," Neal said. "I hope you appreciate how masterful a con that was on my part."

"I don't appreciate you ruining my perfect record."

"I was doing you a favor," Caffrey insisted, faking a look of innocence. "People were getting jealous. It was about to get ugly."

"Not buying it. And whatever you won with that bet, you're sharing it with me."

 **Burke Townhouse, Brooklyn, NY. January 07, 2005. Friday morning.**

Elizabeth wrapped her hands around a warm mug of coffee and told herself it was silly to shiver. The thermostat was set at the same temperature that had been perfectly comfortable when she'd left town before Christmas, but after more than a week on a tropical island she felt chilled now in New York.

She sat at the dining table, catching up on the email for her business — Burke Premiere Events — but there wasn't much going on. Planning the wedding in Honolulu had been her last project, and she hadn't committed to any other events in early January so she wouldn't be distracted by clients during her vacation.

Her inbox had been pitifully devoid of messages, and she stood up intending to unpack the suitcases they'd left near the front door. Sometimes her best ideas came to her while doing laundry, and she hoped this morning an inspiration for marketing her business would arrive while she sorted sand-covered beachwear.

Before she could open the suitcases, her cellphone rang. "Hello, Marcus," she answered, when a glance at the caller ID told her the caller was an employee of the Shooting Stars foundation.

"Tell me you're back home and I didn't just wake you up in the middle of the night in Hawaii."

El chuckled. "I'm in Brooklyn and trying to adjust to winter."

"I have a family who needs your help."

El picked up a pad of paper and a pen, and sat on the sofa. "Tell me about them."

"It's a divorced mother and her two children. The boy is ten and the girl is six. The children live with their father, and this is a last vacation with their mom. She'd been ill, but thought her condition was under control until a recent checkup. It showed that the medication she's taking isn't slowing the progress of her disease anymore. The doctors say it's terminal. She has a few more weeks where she's still able to be active, and then her condition will deteriorate rapidly."

"How can I help?"

"We're flying the three of them to New York Monday night."

"So soon?" El was used to having weeks to plan an event.

"We're always under a time crunch with these things. Think of this more as planning a tour instead of an event. We need your help identifying and accessing venues that will appeal to them. First thing Tuesday morning I'll kick things off. The mother will visit a specialist for a second opinion regarding her prognosis. Then starting with lunch we want to give them a chance to enjoy their favorite things together."

The Shooting Stars foundation was similar to the group that granted wishes for dying children, but the organization Marcus worked for focused on families where a parent was dying. The goal was for the children to have happy memories of being with their parent, to offset the grief that would follow. Several months ago Marcus spoke at an event planners' conference, asking for volunteers willing to help pull off a special day for these families. El and others had filled out a profile indicating their interests and resources, so that Marcus could call on the volunteer who best matched the needs of a given family. "What are their favorite things?"

As Marcus outlined what each member of the family enjoyed, it was clear why he'd chosen Elizabeth for this project. But when El opened her calendar, something else became clear. This event would keep her busy on Peter's birthday.

That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, she told herself. She'd wanted an excuse to do more for Peter's birthday than eating lasagna and cake and watching a mystery. She could use her work on the Shooting Stars itinerary to distract her husband as she planned a surprise for him. Surprising an FBI agent was no easy feat, however. Once she told Marcus that she'd take the project, she considered her options.

Neal had once mentioned that one of the tricks to conning a mark was to make him believe he was your accomplice.

She checked the time. The morning briefing should be over by now. She selected a number from her phone's contact list and dialed. "Hey, hon," she said when Peter answered.

 **Peter's office, Manhattan, NY. January 07, 2005. Friday morning.**

Peter glanced the caller ID and answered as soon as he saw who was calling. "Elizabeth?" he said.

"Hey, hon. Do you have a minute? I need a favor."

"Now is good. You caught me between meetings." He stood and closed the door to his office for privacy.

"Remember me telling you a few months ago that I'd signed up to help a few charities with events? One of them just called me. They're bringing a family to New York early next week and asked for my help planning a special day for them."

Peter paused beside his chair. "Do they want a police escort? I have some contacts at NYPD."

"Nothing that elaborate. The family has two children. The oldest child loves stories about FBI agents. Those are his favorite TV shows and movies, and we want to arrange for him to meet real agents and talk to them about their training and experiences."

Sitting down at his desk, Peter clicked his mouse to show his calendar for the next week. "What day?"

"Tuesday."

He grimaced. "The annual budget and goal-setting sessions start next week. The only time I'm free on Tuesday is the lunch hour."

"That would work, actually. The family's busy in the morning, and I'm supposed to arrange a lunch for them. I could have a caterer deliver to your office. I'd just need to know how many agents to feed."

He made a note on a pad of paper. "I'll ask for volunteers and get back to you with a number."

"If you're in meetings all day Tuesday, can I assume you won't be able to leave early for a birthday dinner?"

He'd forgotten about his birthday. It wasn't something he tended to think about at the office. "Yeah, best to assume I'll be working late. We didn't have reservations anyplace, did we?"

"No, and honestly, with everything I'll be doing for the Shooting Stars family that day, it's a relief to know you won't be sitting around the house waiting for me."

A tap on the door had him looking up. Hughes stood outside, and probably wanted to strategize before their next meeting. "Sorry, hon. I've got to go. The boss wants to talk."

"Just one more question. Who should I talk to about reserving a room in your building for the lunch?"

"Umm. Hughes' admin is still on vacation. She normally handles that kind of stuff."

"Would it be okay if I called someone on your team to make the arrangements?" El asked.

"Yeah. Probably not Neal. He has a lot of catching up to do. Start with Travis." Agent Travis Miller had been assigned to stay with El at the townhouse last fall when Peter and Neal had been kidnapped. Afterward, El had mentioned she found Travis easy to talk to. "You have his number, right? In fact, he might be a better person than me to line up volunteers and tell you how many agents will attend."

"I'll call him. Thanks, hon."

As Peter waved Hughes in, the name Shooting Stars ran through his mind. _Why did that charity sound familiar?_

 **Federal Building lab, Manhattan, NY. January 07, 2005. Friday morning.**

"Peter's birthday falls on a Tuesday," Jones said. "We considered saying it's his turn for Tuesday Tails, and have you lead him someplace for a team lunch."

Tuesday Tails was a weekly training exercise where a team member was selected to practice tailing Neal — or being tailed by Neal. It had increased the team's skills considerably over the year he'd worked at the FBI. "I like it," Neal said, "but Peter would notice everyone leaving early to get to the restaurant ahead of us."

"And he wouldn't have time," Diana added. "I saw his calendar when I sat beside him for the briefing and next week looked insane."

"We keep coming back to serving a cake during the morning briefing," Travis said. "We wanted to do something more interesting."

"A gathering in the evening?" Neal suggested. "Assuming El doesn't have other plans. She didn't mention anything in Hawaii."

"We should call her," Diana said.

"I don't know," Travis said. "A call from the Bureau during the workday? Most FBI spouses would assume it's bad news. I don't want to panic her. Maybe we should email."

"Who knows how long it will be before she checks her mail," Diana protested. "What if she doesn't get the message until tonight, and Peter happens to see it?"

Neal was about to volunteer to call or text Elizabeth, but a cell phone started to buzz. Travis reached for his phone and looked bemused at what the caller ID told him. "We were about to call you," he said, and a moment later added, "Jones, Diana, and Neal. We're trying to plan something for Peter's birthday, but don't have any ideas. At least, none that haven't been shot down by the group as too boring." He listened again and smiled. "Hold on." He set down the phone and pressed one of the buttons. "You're on speaker," he said.

El outlined her plan and the group fell silent as they heard about the hardships facing the Shooting Stars family, but they smiled at the prospect of giving both the family and Peter a special day. Diana took notes, and Neal put his own spin on El's ideas. He couldn't help trying to make things a bit grander. Diana read out a list of tasks and who would take each. When they were in agreement, they ended the call.

Neal stood up, hoping to escape before Diana remembered the other reason they had gathered, but she grabbed him by an arm before he could make his getaway. "Not so fast. First we're going to update the case reports. Then you're going to find the pages that disappeared from my report while you were carrying the files for Peter, and you're going to tell him that it's all your fault."

"Let him know I conspired for us to meet?" Neal objected.

"Let him know you were playing a practical joke and that my record for perfect reports still stands."

"At least let me wait until after Peter's birthday to admit it."

Diana rolled her eyes, but accepted Neal's version of the plan.

 **Burke Townhouse, Brooklyn, NY. January 07, 2005. Friday evening.**

Peter stepped into the townhouse to be greeted by an enthusiastic Labrador. "Satchmo, sit." When the dog stopped jumping, Peter crouched down to scratch his ears.

"He missed us," El said.

"Is your sister still here?" Peter hadn't seen her car when he parked. Elizabeth's sister lived a couple of hours north of the city, and had volunteered to let Satchmo stay at her home so they wouldn't have to leave him at a kennel while they were in Hawaii.

"No, she wanted to beat the traffic home. She said hello and hopes we'll visit soon." El shared a story about Satchmo chasing squirrels and playing with her sister's kids.

"Sounds like he had a good time." Standing up, Peter removed his coat and sat on the sofa. Satchmo brought over toys, dropping them at Peter's feet. Taking the hint, Peter threw the items for the dog to chase after.

"I hope you aren't expecting a gourmet meal," El said, sitting beside her husband. "I'm exhausted. When I saw you parking I called out for a pizza."

"That's perfect. I can probably stay awake long enough to eat a pizza. This morning I thought jet lag wasn't going to be a problem, but by this afternoon I was struggling not to yawn in my meetings." He yawned now.

El yawned, too. "Same here. In the morning I worked on plans for the Shooting Stars family and went grocery shopping. I'd have taken a nap in the afternoon if my sister hadn't been on her way with Satchmo. Between catching up with her and taking Satch for a walk and giving him all the attention he thinks he needs, there wasn't a moment to rest until now."

Peter tossed a squeaky toy across the room. "I thought the Shooting Stars foundation sounded familiar when you mentioned it. I looked them up between meetings and confirmed I'd heard of them before."

El looked at him with dismay. "Tell me they're not being investigated. They do such important work."

"No, nothing like that." Peter kicked off his shoes. "They started up when I was in college, and by the time I was pitching in the minor leagues they'd gone national. Several fathers had a final wish of playing on a pro baseball team with their kids. The foundation arranged for a few families to come to our games, join batting practice, stuff like that." Satchmo carried over another of his toys — a thick rope — and Peter played tug-of-war with him.

Peter hoped his casual comment and the fact that she was tired would lead El to drop the subject, but when he let go of the rope and leaned back in the sofa, he realized she was gazing at him with that look she had, the one that meant she saw through him.

"I stayed away from the Shooting Stars families," he admitted. "They made me uncomfortable. I never knew if I should encourage the kids to open up about their fears, or if I was supposed to keep things light and avoid talking about the fact that one of their parents was dying." It seemed safe enough to admit. El knew he wasn't one for talking about emotions. She wouldn't be surprised to hear he'd been as awkward in his twenties as he was now.

"You're leaving something out," she said.

He willed the pizza to arrive to postpone this conversation, but he knew it would still be a while. Friday nights were busy for places that delivered food. "My fourteenth birthday. The one Mom wants to talk about."

"What happened?"

He'd never told this story to anyone, and had avoided talking to his family about it. He gathered his thoughts, looking for the best way to explain what had happened and how it affected him. "My birthday's really the middle of the story. It started before that. Probably months before, but I wasn't aware of it until late November. We spent Thanksgiving that year with my mom's parents."

El pulled a throw blanket around them, and it made him realize he'd been feeling chilled.

"Thanks, hon. When we got to my grandparents' house, I noticed the family behaving differently than in prior years. Three of my cousins were more quiet than usual. They joined us outside for playing in the snow, but they weren't really paying attention. And then back in the house, there were a lot of whispered conversations among the adults. My mom's sister, the mother of those three cousins, didn't eat much, and she looked particularly frail."

"Oh," said El, in a voice that told Peter she knew where this was going. She'd met most of Peter's aunts and uncles, and none of them had been Betty's sister.

"That was the only year in my parents' marriage that they didn't spend Christmas together. Mom stayed home and took care of her sister, while Dad took me up to the cabin where we went skiing with the family of his youngest brother."

El slid closer. A sniff told him she was trying not to cry.

"Those three cousins I mentioned, they lived only half an hour from our house. You heard what Mom said at the airport about making sure my birthday wasn't eclipsed by Christmas and New Year's. There was always a party or event on my birthday, and those cousins always joined us. But that year… At the start of January Mom asked if I'd mind having smaller celebration, and promised we'd make up for it with something extra special the next year."

"What did you say?"

"I agreed, and Dad and I planned a night of watching videos and eating popcorn and cake. When it came to picking out the movies to rent, Dad took me aside and asked me to pick happy and upbeat stories. It was going to be just the three of us for my birthday, but my brother surprised me by showing up the night before. Joe tried to act happy and keep me from noticing that Mom wasn't around. He took me out for lunch, and when we got back to the house Dad sat us down and said Mom's sister had passed away."

"I'm so sorry."

"Well, my cousins joined us after all. From what I gathered, their dad needed a little space to process his own grief, and Mom brought the kids over to our place to spend the night. They were in shock, I guess. I don't think they said more than a handful of words all evening. I remember we spread out around the TV and played a lot of movies. As soon as one ended, Dad or Joe had the next one lined up, well past my usual bedtime. I don't think any of us could have named a single one of the movies we'd seen if you'd asked us the next day."

El sniffed again.

"Fast-forward to November. Mom said the sky was the limit for my fifteenth birthday, so she wanted me to start thinking about it early to give us time to make plans. We could travel — even if it meant missing school. Or we could have a massive party at home. Well, I dreamed big for about a week. A hockey game in Canada was on the top of my list, but I was still considering my options when we went to Mom's parents again for Thanksgiving."

"Were your cousins there?"

"Yeah. They were sad heading into the first round of big holidays since my aunt had died, and Mom was subdued, too. She thought she owed me a big birthday celebration and was determined to follow through on her promise. But it didn't take a genius to figure out that the anniversary of my aunt's death was going to be a downer for everyone. A party at home meant inviting my cousins. I'd realized over Thanksgiving I had no idea what to say to them, and they really just wanted to be left alone. Inviting them to a party, it seemed insensitive and awkward. Not inviting them didn't seem right, either."

"And traveling?"

"A hockey game is a loud, crowded, boisterous event. The closer we got to my birthday, the more Mom was seeking out quiet and solitude. She went for a lot of long walks. I checked the calendar for the family cabin, and no one had it reserved the weekend nearest my birthday, so I said I that's where I wanted to go. It meant minimal effort on Mom's part, since the cabin's always well-stocked. And it meant I could avoid my cousins."

"Have I met them?" El asked.

"I think one of them came to our wedding. Do you remember meeting a Julie?"

El nodded.

"I avoided them for months after my fifteenth birthday. I didn't know what to say to them, and they clammed up around me, like maybe spending time with me reminded them of the day they lost their mom. We drifted apart, and over the summer they moved away. Their dad grew up in Vermont, and that's where they went. A part of me was glad to see them go, so I didn't have to talk to them about their mom and their grief. I felt like a coward."

"So you thought you didn't deserve big birthday celebrations after that?"

"No." Peter said it automatically, but then paused to think it through. "Well, maybe a little. Mostly I learned to appreciate a day of relaxation after all the frantic rushing around that happens from Thanksgiving through New Year's. The older I got, the more I was a participant in the preparation for holidays. Setting aside my birthday as a day with no expectations, no place I have to go, it felt like a gift." He shrugged. "And I don't really like parties. Sorry."

El chuckled. "I'd figured that out a while ago. I realized how ambivalent you were when it came to planning our wedding reception. And your eagerness to leave wasn't just because you wanted to start the honeymoon."

"It was mostly eagerness for the honeymoon, I swear. I thought I made that clear when we finally reached the hotel."

She blushed. "Yes." Before she could say more, the pizza finally arrived. When they were eating she asked, "Would you rather not take part in the conversation with the boy from the Shooting Stars family?"

Across the table from her, Peter swallowed and shook his head. "This morning I'd probably have looked for an excuse to get out of it. But now… I'm thinking of it as a chance to make up for avoiding my cousins. I'll follow his lead. If he wants to talk about the FBI, that what we'll do. If he wants to talk about… Is it his mom or his dad?"

"His mom," El said.

"If he wants to talk about her, I'll listen." Peter eyed the pizza. "You wanna split the last piece?"

"All yours."

He picked up the last slice. "You said there were two kids?"

"Mm-hmm. The younger one is a girl who loves music. I've enlisted Neal's help with her. He said he'd take a late lunch on Tuesday, and he'll lead the family on an outing after their time with you."

"What about the mother? Isn't the day supposed to be about doing something she enjoys?"

"Mostly she wants her kids to have memories of her participating in the things they love. One thing she did ask for was Creole food. Stella — that's the mother's name — grew up in New Orleans, but her kids have never been there. She wants them to experience authentic Creole cuisine."

"In New York?"

"That was my reaction. Fortunately I mentioned it to Neal and he told me June is from New Orleans. Her chef knows several recipes that should work. He has a catering company and agreed to provide lunch Tuesday at cost. What he described sounds scrumptious. I'll definitely keep him in mind for future events."

Peter nodded. It crossed his mind that there must be more happening with the family on Tuesday. After all, El had mentioned having so much going on that he'd probably get home ahead of her. Maybe she was glossing over the details to avoid bringing back more memories of his aunt. Or maybe she was as tired as he was.

She yawned. "Do you think we could skip taking Satchmo on a walk?"

Satchmo scampered toward the front door and picked up his leash.

"I'm going to take that as a no," Peter said. He walked the dog while El dealt with the detritus of their meal. The night was clear, but in Brooklyn there was too much light to get a good look at the stars.

He thought he saw a streak across the sky out of the corner of his eye. Probably an airplane, he told himself, but he thought back to nights as a kid, watching the stars with his mom. She'd been a science teacher, and taught him both the science and the legends behind the night sky. They often stayed up late to watch meteor showers.

"Did you make a wish, Satchmo?"

The dog looked at him questioningly.

"I wish I'd had the confidence to talk to my cousins after their mom died. But I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to make retroactive wishes. Let's see. How about this? I wish to do better with the Shooting Stars kid than I did with my cousins. That should be easy enough. I don't think I need any fairy godmothers or magic to make that one come true."

 **June Ellington's mansion. Manhattan, NY. January 07, 2005. Friday evening.**

Neal yawned as he walked toward the stairs. His daydreams of going to sleep as soon as he got home from the Bureau were dashed when June and her chef Emil plied him with a gourmet dinner while peppering him with questions about his vacation in Hawaii. Emil was particularly interested in the Hawaiian cuisine, and made a brief comment about talking to Elizabeth Burke earlier in the day about the Shooting Stars family.

To Neal's surprise, June didn't comment on the family, although Neal had recommended El call her, too, for part of the family's wish list. Now Neal was minutes away from answering the siren call of his bed, but paused at the foot of the stairs to take a good look at his landlady. "How was your Christmas?" he asked.

Her expression told him he'd hit the mark. "We always spent Christmas here, before," she said. "As the girls got older, they'd bring their families, and this place would be bustling with people and parties. We accumulated so many decorations. This year…" She shook her head. "As you noticed, I couldn't face putting up the decorations without Byron."

Neal nodded. It was the first Christmas since Byron had died. The first anniversary of his death was only a month away. "If you want to try next year, let me know. I'll help decorate."

June patted his shoulder. "Thank you. I'm glad I spent this Christmas visiting family. It helped keep my mind off of old, sad memories. My main regret is that I came home for New Year's. Byron always used to take me dancing on New Year's Eve."

Last year the couple rang in 2004 at home, with Byron confined to a wheelchair. Neal had worked a case that New Year's Eve, but returned in time to join them for a champagne toast. "He was a class act," Neal said. "I wish I could have known him longer."

 **Federal Building, Manhattan, NY. January 11, 2005. Tuesday morning.**

"Stella, I'm Elizabeth Burke. I'll be your tour guide today." The children didn't know what was in store for them. They'd been told it was simply a tour of the city. "It's a pleasure to meet you. And these must be your children?"

"Evangeline and Antoine," Stella answered. She'd lived in Pittsburgh for fifteen years, but still had a trace of an accent from her youth in New Orleans.

"Mooooommm," the boy said.

She rested a hand on her son's shoulder. "They go by Evie and Tony."

The girl leaned against her mother and looked up at El with big brown eyes. Her curly black hair was pulled back with a ribbon that matched her bright blue dress. She held a stuffed animal tightly against her chest. It looked like a lion.

Marcus had sent a text warning El that the little girl hadn't said a word and the boy was grumpy. El had enough experience with nieces and nephews to take it in stride. "I hope you're hungry. We're setting up a lunch for you here."

"Can't we just get a burger?" Tony asked. He wore freshly pressed black slacks and a red plaid shirt that offset his dark hair. He'd been frowning since the moment Marcus dropped them off at the Federal Building, and El imagined he wanted to wear something less formal and be playing with other kids, instead of being surrounded by adults.

"He didn't want to come to New York." Stella's voice held a huskiness that could indicate a cold or tears. "His daddy made him come, but he isn't happy about it. I'm sorry he isn't more grateful for what you've planned for us today."

El thought about Peter, and how hard he'd been on his teenage self for not knowing how to respond to his cousins' grief. She couldn't imagine what it must be like for these children, struggling to accept their mother's illness and coping with circumstances they could barely understand. "If you're still hungry after lunch, I'm sure we can find you a burger. Follow me." She led them into the elevator and pressed the button for her husband's floor. She felt a twinge of excitement, because she didn't often get to visit Peter at work. She hadn't seen him when she'd been helping set up the conference room for lunch. He was still in a meeting. "Here we go." The elevator opened and they stepped out.

Tony's eyes widened as he took in the FBI logo engraved on the door to the bullpen. So far, so good. His mother had been right about him being interested in the Bureau.

"You'll need badges, of course. Oh, good. Here comes Agent Miller with them now."

Travis opened the door, carrying guest name tags for the family and El, with their names printed beside an FBI emblem. "Now you're official," he said when each of them wore a tag with their name on it.

"This is the FBI?" the boy asked Travis. "The real FBI, not a TV show?"

"That's right. Our food's this way." Travis opened a door that led to a series of conference rooms, and the tantalizing aroma of lunch greeted them.

Emil had outdone himself, in El's opinion. There were child-sized po' boys on bread so fresh that it called to her even though she and Peter had kicked off his birthday this morning with bagels from his favorite deli. A table along the left wall served as a buffet with jambalaya, gumbo, and shrimp creole.

Before they ate, El performed introductions. Jones was there with his niece and nephew, and Tricia had her sons with her. "Thank their teachers for letting them leave school for this," El whispered to Tricia.

Evie looked at the unfamiliar dishes with wide-eyed wonder. She studied each one carefully, and then reached out to stick her finger in the gumbo. Before she touched it, Emil said, " _Non, cherie_. See the bubbles?"

Tony spoke up. "That means it's hot."

"Oh, it means more than that. You see, I put a 'gator in that dish."

The other children gasped.

"An alligator wouldn't fit," Tony argued.

"A _petit_ 'gator. He bites your finger if you try to sneak a taste, and he keeps the food warm with his fire."

"That's dragons," said one of Tricia's sons.

"New Orleans 'gators are part dragon. Well-kept secret," Emil said with a straight face.

El was delighted to hear Stella laugh.

Stella and Emil told the children about each dish, and the grown-ups chuckled as the kids made faces when they tasted some of the spicier items. The room grew quiet as they got serious about eating, and then Jones, Tricia and Travis started talking about past cases. Travis described surveillance and his trepidation over his first big undercover assignment. Jones talked about stolen items the team had recovered, and Tricia mentioned going back to Quantico to study Behavioral Analysis.

Other members of the White Collar team joined them after the conversation started. El and Tricia had thought it would be best to start the family out with a handful of agents, so they wouldn't be overwhelmed by a large group of strangers when they arrived. Stella and her children sat at a table near the window with their backs to the door, so they didn't see how many people continued to join them for lunch.

Swapping out the large conference room table with smaller tables from other rooms had been quite a chore, and Jones had done much of it. He had an analytical mind and excelled at thinking through how to maneuver the tables through the door. As a result, El and Emil promised Jones could have all of the leftovers from lunch. They were pleased with the result of swapping the tables, as the conference room had been transformed from a place for meetings into a small cafe. Emil had brought tablecloths and napkins in what he called Mardi Gras colors — purple, green, and gold — and they brightened the cold, gray New York day.

About five minutes after Stella arrived, Peter walked in and filled a plate. A seat had been reserved for him at the table where Stella and the children sat. He listened at first as Tricia wrapped up a story about Quantico, and then he added, "My favorite part of training was the driving course. I was top of my class at tailing suspects in a car."

Others agents laughed and teased him about his driving. Tempting though it was to become absorbed in the stories, El made a point of watching out for her guests. Stella had glanced back at the buffet twice and El told her, "There's plenty left if you want more."

"I haven't been hungry for a while, but I've missed Creole food so much. I can't help myself." Stella walked over to the buffet and as she filled her plate she spoke in a low voice with Emil.

El was glad to see Tony asking questions, and Peter looking perfectly comfortable answering them. The other kids also jumped in, eager to share what they knew. Tricia's sons had been there a year ago when the FBI found a cache of hidden money, and the boys described how the cash had floated down from the ceiling like snow. There were smiles and laughter all around.

Ten minutes before Peter needed to leave for his next meeting, there was a knock on the door. Diana opened it, and Neal carried in a cake. "I heard someone's having a birthday," he said.

The White Collar team sang Happy Birthday to Peter. To chants of "make a wish" from the kids, Peter blew out a candle, and then Emil brought over a knife to slice the cake.

"Wow," said Elizabeth when she saw the interior. "How many layers did you make?"

Emil handed the first piece to Peter as he answered, "It's a doberge cake. Eight layers is traditional."

As Emil continued slicing and plating, El distributed pieces of cake. First she made sure the kids were served, and then saw to the adults. When she was done, she returned to stand beside the chef. "The food was fantastic. I can't thank you enough for pulling this off on such short notice. You're a treasure."

"It's nothing. Now that June's family is grown, she doesn't keep me busy as a private chef. My catering business is new, and this was good practice. And that one," he gestured toward Stella, "her smiles were the best thanks I could have. She's had too much sadness in her life."

Peter and Hughes made their goodbyes and left for an afternoon of meetings. For a few more minutes the children chatted with the remaining agents, and then Tricia and Stella led them over to El and Emil.

"I'm taking most of these kids back to their schools," Tricia said. She shook Stella's hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise."

The kids waved and called out "Bye," as four of them followed Tricia to the elevator.

Turning to Emil, Stella said, "Thank you. I never expected such a wonderful lunch." Stella patted her son's shoulder. "Tony?"

"Thank you," he repeated.

Most of the agents returned to their desks, and the room began to feel empty. Travis, Jones and Neal stayed behind to help Emil pack up the buffet. El smiled at little Evie, who was again leaning against her mother. "Evie, I heard that your favorite music is Christmas songs."

The girl nodded.

When Marcus first mentioned Evie's love of holiday songs, El had groaned in frustration. A month ago there were dozens of concerts that would have been perfect for the little girl. But no one was performing Christmas music in January. Fortunately she had Neal. "Have you heard a song called 'Peace and Joy'?"

The girl nodded more enthusiastically.

"I'd like to introduce you to Neal Legend. He's a member of Urban Legend; they're the group who sings that song." El smiled at Neal.

Neal pulled over a chair and sat down, to be closer to the girl's height. "Hi, I'm Neal. It's nice to meet you." He extended his hand, and Evie reached forward to hold it a moment. "The friends who sing it with me are on their way to a music recording studio. Would you like to meet them?"

"Yeah." The little girl said. Her voice was barely loud enough to hear, but it had El beaming with happiness. Evie was talking, and Tony had stopped sulking. Things were looking up.

 **Federal Building, Manhattan, NY. January 11, 2005. Tuesday afternoon.**

When no one else was looking, Neal grinned at Elizabeth. So far, so good. They'd done the traditional birthday cake and singing for Peter. It was important to give him what he expected. Now he'd think they were done, and wouldn't be watching out for what they had planned next.

As they waited for the elevator, Stella asked, "How did an FBI agent become a singer with a hit song?"

"I wish I could say it was talent, but it was mainly luck." Neal led the way into the elevator and hit the lobby button once everyone was inside.

The little girl tugged on his coat. "Luck?"

Okay. It looked like the most silent member of their group wanted a story. "When I was a little older than your brother, my favorite musical group was called Local Devastation. I'd never had the chance to go to one of their concerts before they split up, but a year ago I joined a choir. A Christmas choir," he amended, since that was her favorite music, "and when I showed up for rehearsal, I recognized a former member of Local Devastation. In his rock star days he played the keyboards and won awards for the songs he wrote, but these days Michael is a teacher and a choir director."

In the lobby a driver met them, and led them to a limo where June was waiting. Neal introduced her as one of the owners of Masterson Music and a former singer, and she made each member of the group feel welcome.

When there was a moment of silence, he felt another tug on his coat. "Luck?"

"Right." Neal turned slightly to watch Evie's face as he continued the story. "I noticed the choir director was scared about something, and I offered to help. I'd just been recruited by Peter to join the FBI, and was impatient to start an investigation and show off what I could do."

"What was he scared of?" Tony asked.

"Michael was getting threatening messages, and he was afraid to ask for help. You see, when he was a rock star he was addicted to drugs and got in trouble, and he thought the cops wouldn't take him seriously because of it. But I took him seriously, and so did Peter, and together we found out who was sending the messages and why. It was someone he knew, someone who didn't really mean to scare him, and when they talked it over, they were both much happier." Neal grinned. "So happy, in fact, that Michael wanted to return the favor. A few months later I called in that favor as part of another case."

"What happened?" the little girl whispered.

"Well, before June took charge of Masterson Music, there were some bad people there, and those people weren't very nice to the singers and musicians who worked for them. Some friends and I wanted to change that, and we went undercover as a group called Urban Legend. We wanted Masterson Music to believe we were rising stars, and I asked Michael if he could help. He suggested we record a new song he'd written, and that was 'Peace and Joy'."

When they arrived at Theo Guy's recording studio, Neal felt another tug after they clambered out of the limo. This time it was Stella, who'd placed a hand on his arm.

Wondering if she felt tired, Neal slowed his pace to match hers. "Doing okay?"

She spoke softly. "The people at the Shooting Stars foundation, they told me they wouldn't share details about my life with the people we met today."

"Your names and your medical condition are all I heard," Neal confirmed.

Stella stopped and studied his face. "Then your story… You didn't know about my history with drugs?"

He shook his head. As a con artist he had a lot of practice hiding his thoughts and emotions, but this time he let his surprise show. "I had no idea."

Stella started walking again. "When Tony said he wanted to meet an FBI agent, I was half-afraid he wanted me to be arrested again."

"But you're not… I mean, they wouldn't let you bring your kids on a trip like this if you weren't clean."

She nodded. "It was years ago. I'd been in an accident when Evie was about a year old, and got addicted to pain killers. I did some bad things, stealing from my employer to pay for the drugs. My husband kicked me out and I lived on the streets until I got arrested. I spent a year in jail, relapsed and got arrested again before I finally turned my life around. That was almost three years ago."

"It's all in your past, then."

There was no humor in Stella's chuckle. "My present's nothing to write home about, either. My husband divorced me, and got custody of the kids, of course. He's remarried now. They don't need me, and just as well. I almost skipped the appointment with the specialist this morning. Why waste their time on someone like me?"

They'd reached the room where the other members of Urban Legend waited for them, and June and El pulled Stella away for introductions before Neal could respond to her.

Was this how his own mother felt? Neal's mom had been depressed and addicted to alcohol. Being separated from most of her family when she went into WITSEC hadn't helped, and then Neal dealt her another blow by running away. He'd heard she was clean now, but that she was cold and unwelcoming when she had a chance to meet with her sister last year. Did she feel as unworthy as Stella, rejecting her family before they could reject her? That idea put a different spin on events, one he'd not considered before.

The other two members of Urban Legend pulled Neal out of his thoughts. Henry handed him a guitar. Noticing that Neal seemed tongue-tied, Angela took questions from their visitors and then the trio performed "Peace and Joy" for Evie and her family.

They took requests for other songs Evie liked, and afterward they sat on the floor to chat with the family, who were seated on chairs. Evie plopped down beside Angela and held her hand. After a few minutes the little girl looked at her and said, "You're my favorite singer."

Angela hugged the girl. "Thank you. You're my sweetest fan."

With that the floodgates opened and Evie turned into a chatterbox. She talked about the carols she loved, and a theme quickly became apparent. She gravitated toward songs about happiness and hope and family.

Stella wasn't the only one wiping her eyes when they realized why Evie kept saying she wanted to hear Christmas carols. The little girl believed in Christmas magic, and by continuing to listen to holiday music she was trying to extend that magic to keep her mother alive.

Neal needed to go back to work, but before he left he said to Stella, "The love you inspire is why specialists should spend time with you."

 **Federal Building, Manhattan, NY. January 11, 2005. Tuesday evening.**

When Peter walked back to his desk after the last meeting of the day, Diana was the only person left in the bullpen. She called out his name when she saw him, and he paused at her desk.

"Big plans for your birthday?" she asked.

"No. El's still with the Shooting Stars family. We'll probably go out for dinner when she's done and call it a night."

Diana stood up and reached for her coat. "Yeah, that sounds like my kind of birthday. Neal asked me to give you this." She pulled a postcard out of her coat pocket.

The picture on the front of the card was _The Starry Night_ by Van Gogh. On the other side was a message. _Time for Tuesday Tails!_

Because of the team lunch, they'd skipped Tuesday Tails this week, or so Peter thought. Apparently it had simply been postponed to the evening. Peter grabbed his coat, locked up his office, and dialed Neal's cell phone as he waited for the elevator. "Tuesday Tails?" he said when Neal answered.

"Usually you're too busy to participate. Since El's preoccupied at the moment, we wanted to give you something fun to do." Neal named an intersection and said, "That's your starting point."

Peter took a cab to the location Neal specified. Within a minute he spotted Neal's fedora, and started tailing him. Barely a block into the chase, he heard a familiar voice call his name. Peter turned around to see his boss. "Mind if I join you?" Hughes asked.

"You want to join a round of Tuesday Tails?" Peter kept following Neal, and Hughes walked beside him.

"When Caffrey ran his plan by me, it struck me that I've never had a chance to participate. You've been bragging about the things your team has learned through this exercise. I assume you'll mention it in the team's accomplishments for last year?"

"I've encouraged Neal to list it; he should get credit for the idea in his annual review. This way." Peter opened the door to a pub, and they walked toward the back exit, barely keeping the fedora in view as they dodged servers with platters of food and drinks.

"This is giving me an appreciation of his skills," Hughes said as they left the pub. Neal was nowhere in sight. "Where'd he go?"

Peter barely caught the door before it closed behind them. "Back inside. He must have slipped into one of the booths."

Sure enough, they saw Neal slide out of a booth and walk toward the front entrance.

"How'd he find an empty booth?" Hughes asked. "This place is packed."

As they reached the booth, someone else slid out. "Peter. You just missed Neal," Jones said.

"Yeah." Peter pressed forward, with Hughes and Jones in his wake. Every few minutes they ran into another member of the White Collar team, until Peter felt like they had a parade chasing after Neal. "He's like the Pied Piper," he muttered.

Diana chuckled. "Having fun, boss?"

"It's about to get fun," he promised. He'd seen the pattern in Neal's path. In order to arrange all of these encounters with team members, he must have planned a fairly straightforward route, and Peter took a gamble. Instead of keeping Neal in sight, he took a shortcut through an alley, and finally he was ahead of Neal. Peter stepped in front of him and swiped the fedora off his head. "Got you!"

"About time," Neal said. He took back the hat. "We're nearly there."

"What's our destination? I thought you might be heading toward the Met, since that postcard was a Van Gogh."

Neal wouldn't say, but they turned a corner and Peter could see the Museum of Natural History. " _Starry Night_ ," Peter said. "We're going to the planetarium?"

"Elizabeth spent the day taking the Shooting Stars family to do things the kids enjoyed. Now it's Stella's turn. She loves stargazing."

"She's got good taste," Peter said. When they arrived at the planetarium, the White Collar team sat behind Stella's family. El and June were also with the family.

Moments after they were seated, Marcus from Shooting Stars stepped forward to welcome everyone. He spoke about the foundation's work and then said a science expert would describe the constellations prominent in the January night sky.

A woman walked up to take the microphone from him, and beamed at the audience. Peter nearly laughed out loud. They'd brought his mom down for a birthday surprise. He'd bet his dad was there, too. "Were you in on this?" Peter asked Neal.

Neal shushed him.

"Good evening. It's a pleasure to be here. My name's Betty Burke. I'm retired now, but I was a science teacher in Albany for many years, and I loved watching the stars with my youngest son."

Peter listened as his mother talked about the stars. She shared myths behind the constellations, interspersing the stories with scientific details about stars and the Milky Way Galaxy.

"I wish she'd been my teacher," Neal said when she'd finished and the applause died down. "I guess in a way she was, because she taught you, and then you took me stargazing at your cabin."

Elizabeth stepped to the podium and directed everyone to an area with treats. "That's Emil, isn't it?" Peter asked, getting glimpses of June's chef as they stood in line.

"That's right," Neal confirmed. "He baked the cake for your birthday, but he said the Creole meal for Stella's family wasn't complete without beignets."

"Those are like doughnuts, right?"

"When Emil makes them, they're like heaven."

Once Peter got his hands on the beignets, he had to agree. "El and I need to take a vacation to New Orleans," he told Neal. "She'll be into the history, and I'll go along for the food." Peter's parents were across the room and he wanted to talk to them, but Tony's voice stopped him.

"Agent Burke?"

"Yes. Did you have more questions for me?"

The boy shook his head. "No. I just wanted to say thanks."

"It was my pleasure. So, are you doing okay? I mean, with your mom…"

Tony shrugged. "Not really."

"I'm glad you're being honest about that." Thinking back to his missteps with his cousins, Peter added, "A lot of people are going to be uncomfortable around you, because they don't know what to say. It doesn't mean they aren't still your friends. Let them know when you want to be quiet, and when you want to talk about your mom, or when you want to talk about something else. Help them help you. Does that make sense?"

Tony nodded.

"What's your preference now?"

"I'd like to talk about something else."

"You've had a lot of questions for Peter and his agents today," Neal said. "I'm curious what got you interested in the FBI in the first place."

"When my mom got arrested, I was mad at the cops. 'Cause they took her away and locked her up someplace we couldn't see her. And then she got arrested again and I was still mad at the cops, plus I was mad at her. My dad told me to stop being mad. He said her second arrest she was caught up in an FBI sting. She wasn't a suspect and they would've let her go, only one of the agents saw she was in bad shape. Instead of sending her to prison, he took her to a place that helped her so she'd stop using drugs. After that she was better, and Dad said that agent was a hero."

"Yes, he was," agreed Neal. "He sounds a lot like Peter, actually."

Tony glanced from Neal to Peter and back again. "Did he save someone?"

"Me," Neal said. "He saw that —"

"Are you ready for dinner?" El interrupted. She'd walked over with Stella and Evie. June, Emil, Henry, Angela and Peter's parents were making their way over. "We have reservations at an Italian restaurant."

Although Peter wanted to hear the rest of what Neal had to say, his stomach was all in favor of a change of venue for the story. "Emil gets a break from cooking for us?"

"This time a friend of mine from the CIA is doing the honors," Emil explained.

Tony looked stunned, and he wasn't the only one. "The CIA?" the boy asked.

The chef chuckled. "Culinary Institute of America. My friend is opening a new restaurant next week, and this week he's training his staff and preparing them for opening night. They've been practicing on friends and family, and tonight it's our turn. We'll have the restaurant to ourselves. He's set it up family-style for us."

"Do they have pizza?" Tony asked.

"Yes," Emil promised. "I checked."

The limo and a couple of taxis took the group to the restaurant. As soon as they were seated, it felt like a family gathering. The pizza was mouthwateringly good, and there was also a rustic lasagna, portobello ravioli, potato gnocchi, and a hearty seafood stew served with fragrant loaves of rosemary bread.

After consuming several slices of pizza, Tony said, "You were going to tell me a story about Peter being a hero."

"A story?" Evie piped up. "Neal tells good stories."

"Oh, well I…" Neal looked befuddled, and Peter had to smile. As a con artist the young man had gotten good at spinning stories, but his audience usually consisted of adults and strangers. Now he had two children and Peter's parents eagerly awaiting a tale.

Evie slid down from her chair and walked over to Henry, who was sitting beside Neal. Confident of her welcome, she climbed onto his lap.

Henry made a token protest. "Shouldn't you be sitting on Neal's lap?"

"Then I wouldn't be able to see him, silly."

"Evie!" her mother protested.

"It's okay," Henry assured her. But then he scowled down at Evie. "Don't you dare touch my tiramisu," he added in a mock-threatening voice.

She picked up a fork and reached toward the dessert in front of Henry.

"Evie!" Stella repeated.

"Mine!" Henry declared, taking a massive forkful out of the dessert before Evie could reach it. The custard filling was in danger of falling off the fork, and Henry draped a napkin over Evie's head to keep any spills out of her hair when he brought the heaping forkful to his mouth. He pulled the napkin away in time for everyone to see she was again attempting to steal a bite of the dessert. "Oh no you don't!"

She squealed with laughter, and the diners laughed along. A waiter brought a plate with a small portion of tiramisu. "For the _signorina_ ," he said.

Evie tilted her head back to look up at Henry. "Mine?"

"All yours. Unless I beat you to it!" He moved his fork toward her plate.

"Mine!" she said, and pushed her plate closer to Neal.

"Can we call a truce?" Neal asked.

Henry nodded.

"Truce?" Evie repeated.

"It means you'll stop fighting and behave yourselves."

Evie giggled and nodded.

Neal looked more composed now. He and Henry had run cons together when Neal was still in his teens, and they made a good team. Peter was certain Henry had initiated the teasing with Evie to give Neal time to prepare the story Tony had requested.

"As it happens, there's a related story that Peter started asking for a year ago, and his birthday seems like a good occasion to finally tell it."

"Christmas 2003?" Peter asked.

"That's right. Once upon a time there was a boy who decided he didn't need family or anyone else, and he left home."

"You, in other words," interjected Henry.

"Could've been you, but yeah, this time it was me." Neal took a sip of water, looking around the table. Peter could guess he was considering how much he could share of a rather complicated family history that included being raised in WITSEC. "There'd been a lot of turmoil in my family. After my parents split my mom took me away and I didn't see the rest of my family for so long I couldn't even remember what they looked like."

Evie and Tony looked across the table at each other, eyes wide.

"I might not have had a lot of family around when I was growing up, but we made a new family. There was a neighbor who was like an aunt. And of course there's Henry. He's my best friend and felt like a brother almost as soon as we met. Sometimes we'd tell people he was my big brother. That was kind of a fantasy of ours. Anyway, my last year of high school I got really mad at my mom and I decided I didn't need a family anymore. I ran away, but my family wasn't going to let me go. My mom asked for help, and Henry said he'd look for me."

"Did he find you?" Evie asked.

"Yep," Henry said. "Didn't take long at all."

"Yeah, he found me, but I was stubborn. I was willing to hang out with him, but I didn't want to rely on anyone else. The problem was, he disagreed. He wanted me to reconnect with the family my mom had left behind. Didn't matter how much I argued with him. He was certain he was right. You know how big brothers are." He said this to Evie, who nodded in agreement.

"Big brother was right," Henry muttered.

"First he introduced me to an uncle, and that was a bad idea. This uncle pretended to like us, but really he was mean. He tricked me and sent me away, all alone. And it turned out that I missed my best friend even if he was annoying a lot of the time. While I was on my own I sort of got into trouble."

"Sort of," Peter repeated. _Thefts, forgeries, cons._ The people at the table who knew Neal chuckled.

"I kept getting in deeper, and I thought it was too late to turn things around. To make things even worse, there was an FBI agent looking for me, and he was very tenacious." Neal glanced at Evie, and seeing her puzzled expression explained, "He wouldn't give up."

"Was it Peter?" Tony asked.

"That's right. I didn't make it easy for him to help me. I was working with bad people, and started to believe I was bad, too. Well, one day I agreed to work with a particularly bad guy. I didn't know at first how bad he was, but soon I realized this was one scary dude. He hurt people who didn't do things his way. And who else do you think showed up?"

"Peter," Tony said.

"That's right. Even though I thought Peter wanted to arrest me, I didn't want him to be hurt by the scary guy. And I sure didn't want the scary guy to hurt me, so I helped Peter stop him. Peter arrested the bad guy, and then told me that I was still a good guy."

Evie reached across to pat his hand. "You are a good guy."

"Thanks. I wasn't convinced at the time, but I wanted to be a good guy. Or… Well, I wanted to be like Peter, and he's a good guy. He told me that if I continued helping him stop the bad guys, I could be forgiven for most of the mistakes I'd made when I thought I was bad."

"Most?" Peter repeated.

"Stop interrupting, Peter. I'm trying to explain how you were a hero."

"It's taking a heroic effort to stay quiet," Peter complained.

Henry raised a wine glass. "I'll drink to that. When do we get back to the heroic best friend?"

"No one said you were a hero," Neal objected. "So, as I was saying, Peter arranged for me to make a fresh start, and offered me a job as a consultant at the FBI. These days I can take my bad experiences and use them for good, and he keeps reminding me that I can be good."

"You _are_ good," Peter said. He agreed with Evie on that score. In Hawaii Neal admitted to worrying he wasn't reformed enough, and Peter was on a campaign to keep telling Neal that he'd earned the white hat of the traditional good guys. Maybe he needed a white fedora to remind him?

"So he helped me escape the bad guys. And he actually cares that I succeed. Sounds pretty heroic, right?"

Tony nodded.

"And the Christmas story?" Peter prompted.

"Christmas story!" Evie said.

"When Henry heard that I'd settled down and gotten a real job, he showed up and tried to convince me again that I should get to know more of my family. Finally he wore me down and I agreed to his plan, but I was nervous about it. I didn't tell anyone at work what I was going to do over the holidays, and that drove Peter crazy. That was so much fun that I kept refusing to answer Peter's questions about my Christmas vacation, and he kept trying more ways to trick me into telling him. I think he's figured out most of it by now, but I've never told him the story."

"I'm all ears," said Peter.

Neal told a carefully worded tale about Henry researching Neal's grandparents to entice Neal into meeting them. The day after Christmas they went to the grandparents' house. Neal glossed over breaking into the house while his grandparents were away, and he neglected to mention that his grandparents were an ambassador and a movie star.

Henry was referred to throughout as a best friend who acted like a big brother, giving the impression they'd grown up together, as the truth was not only confusing but also something they'd agreed not to reveal due to Neal's situation as a runaway from WITSEC. In reality, Henry hadn't needed to do any research, because Edmund and Irene Caffrey were his grandparents, too.

Neal did describe meeting his cousin Angela. It seemed Henry had already been telling her about Neal, and she was so eager to meet her cousin that she jumped the gun and arrived before Henry was ready. As Peter had already guessed, they bonded over a love of music and a big part of their first day together was making plans to catch Masterson Music in the act of cheating singers.

There was a lot Peter read between the lines, and he vowed to get the full story. Looking at El, he could tell she had the same idea. Neal could expect an invitation to dinner at their house soon. Since Peter and El both knew about Neal's past, including his time in WITSEC, he'd have no excuse to leave out the details when it was just the three of them.

"And that's how Henry reconnected me with part of my family," Neal concluded. "I thought I was better off as a loner, but now I can't imagine not having them in my life. The support of family — and of friends who seem like family — makes me stronger."

Peter heartily approved of Neal's comment. The kid still had a lot of lone wolf tendencies, but at least he acknowledged the advantages of having a pack.

"That was the first Christmas after we lost my dad," Angela said. "I learned that people leave your life, but others come into your life, and you need to appreciate them while you have them. I'm glad to have Neal back."

Evie was getting sleepy, and Stella decided it was time to take her children back to their hotel. "Thank you all so much," she said as she lifted Evie. "I knew we'd meet kind people and do special things, but I had no idea you could make me so happy. You can't imagine what a difference you've made for us today."

Tony walked over to shake Peter's hand. "Thanks, Agent Burke."

Peter reached into his breast pocket for a business card. "If you want to talk, give me a call. I'll admit I'm often away from my phone when I'm working cases, but if you leave a message I'll get back to you, I promise."

Suddenly Tony hugged him, and then dashed over to where his mother was waiting.

"Bye." Evie's voice was heavy with sleep, but she waved until the family was out of sight.

Neal, Henry and Angela were the next to leave. They shared a cab and it sounded like they were going to spend the rest of the night reminiscing and arguing about who had been the mastermind in the Masterson Music sting.

Emil disappeared into the kitchen, and June pulled El aside. That left Peter with his parents.

"I hope Stella and her kids will be all right," Betty said.

Peter looked at his mother. "Me, too. Do you have a minute to talk?"

"Of course." She sat down at the table, and Peter sat beside her. "What's on your mind?"

"My fourteenth birthday."

"I'd nearly given up hope you'd ever be willing to talk about that."

"That was kind of the problem. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. Not to you, not to my cousins."

Peter's father pulled up a chair. "Can I join in?" They nodded and Luke sat down. "We thought we were doing you a favor, keeping you in the dark about how serious your aunt's illness was. You were young, and there was Christmas and your birthday, and we didn't want to ruin those for you."

"But that left you unprepared," Betty said. "If we'd talked to you about it in advance, you might have been… well, I don't want to say you'd have been comfortable with it all. It's not comfortable to have a death in the family. But maybe less uncomfortable."

"Since we didn't talk about it beforehand, it seemed like you thought we shouldn't talk about it later," Luke added. "Looking back, I wish we'd handled it differently."

"It's a tough call," Peter said. "In your shoes, I probably would have done the same thing."

Betty reached out and held Peter's hand. "After that you didn't want birthday parties anymore, not like the parties we used to have. I've worried for a long time that we ruined your birthday forever."

"No," Peter insisted. "It made me feel differently about it, but you didn't ruin it. The older I got, the more I appreciated a chance to rest and loaf around."

"That's true, but you're holding something back," Luke said. He was the quietest member of the family, but he had observational skills Peter had learned to emulate in his job.

Peter's first reaction was to say it was hard to explain, but he realized that it was simpler than he used to think. Meeting Stella and her kids had brought clarity. "Having seen what my cousins went through, it felt important to spend my birthday at home with my family, appreciating that I had a home and a family. I didn't want the distraction of traveling someplace or being in a crowd of people." He squeezed his mother's hand. "And starting with my fourteenth birthday, each time I've blown out the candles on my cake and made a wish, that wish was for my parents to live long and healthy lives."

El walked up as Betty was wiping her eyes. "Ready to go home?"

Peter looked up to see June was already on her way out with Emil. "Will we learn what happens with Stella?"

"Probably not," El said. "Shooting Stars warned me that they guard each family's privacy, and therefore they can't give us updates. But there is reason for hope. When Stella heard that June's husband died from a similar condition, she opened up to June about this morning's conversation with the specialist. There's an experimental treatment that she's a candidate for, and it's had a high success rate. June's going to talk to the Shooting Stars foundation about a fundraiser to help with the medical expenses. It's likely Stella will have several more years of making memories with her kids."

"Not a fairy-tale ending," Betty said, "but better than I expected."

They pulled on their coats and walked outside. The owner of the restaurant had hailed a cab for them, and Peter thanked him again for the meal. "Can we just make a reservation to come back here every year on my birthday?"

"Not scared off?" The chef gestured at his Japanese features. "I worried people wouldn't take me seriously as the owner and executive chef of an Italian restaurant."

"It's the best Italian meal I've ever had, and I used to haunt Little Italy every weekend when I first moved to New York."

"Thanks." The chef shook Peter's hand. "I keep hearing my mother in the back of my head, asking why I couldn't open a nice sushi restaurant like my sister."

Peter made a face. He'd never understood the appeal of sushi.

The chef chuckled. "I hope you'll come back before your next birthday."

"We will," El promised. On the drive to Brooklyn she sat in the backseat, between Peter and Luke and she patted her husband's arm. "I hope this wasn't too much of a downer for your birthday."

Peter put an arm around her. "You arranged for me to spend time doing things I love, eating things I love, and being with people I love. That's my recipe for a happy birthday. The lesson I'm taking from today is to appreciate all of those things, and to tell you how much I appreciate you. Love you, hon." He kissed her and whispered, "Next year, just a mystery and lasagna?"

She chuckled. "Isn't next year your fortieth birthday?"

"Oh, I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Betty said, from the front seat of the cab. "I have some ideas."

Peter groaned. "Dad, a little help?"

Luke smiled at him. "It's also Joe's fiftieth coming up. Maybe you can distract everyone with plans for your brother's party."

"I'll talk to Neal. He's an expert at distraction."

El leaned against her husband and laughed. "Remember, we're a year and a half away from Henry's thirtieth birthday. Neal might want to practice birthday surprises and party ideas on you as he plans for that event."

"Maybe I can strike a deal with Henry. If he helps rein in Neal with regard to my birthday, maybe I can return the favor." Already he saw the flaw in that idea. "Henry probably wants a wild, outrageous party, right? This is all Joe's fault. He married Noelle, and now I'm related by marriage to crazy people like Neal and Henry."

"A little craziness is good for you," said Betty. "It makes you appreciate the sane people in your life."

"If I ever meet any sane people, I'll let you know," Peter replied. His family laughed along with him, and for now his only wish was to enjoy the moment.

 _A/N: Are you as disappointed as Peter that you didn't get to hear Neal's adventures breaking into his grandparents' home in 2003? Then I have good news for you — those adventures are in a vignette I plan to post on New Year's Day!_

 _In case you were wondering, I've been purposefully vague about exactly what disease Byron and Stella had, and the same holds true with Peter's aunt. My hope is that readers who've lost loved ones to various illnesses can imagine those are the illnesses in my stories, and can identify with the characters who are coping with the resulting loss. Or you if you're at a stage where certain diseases are a trigger for you, you can imagine it's something else in these stories._

 _Many, many thanks to Silbrith, who went above and beyond the call of duty in her roles of Beta Reader and Research Queen for this vignette. It's thanks to her that I now understand the difference between Cajun and Creole, and her suggestions have made the story clearer and the ending happier. A round of applause, please for Silbrith!_

 _And of course thanks to you for reading, and for the comments and kudos._

 _See our blog (Penna Nomen and Silbrith Conversation) for an updated list of stories in order, with each vignette broken out separately. I've posted "The new vignette: Wish on a Star" which describes some of my thoughts behind this vignette. I've also added pins for this story to the Caffrey Vignettes Pinterest board._

 _References to other stories in the Caffrey Conversation series include:_

Finding the cache of $60 million happened in the Treasure Hunt vignette.

The trip to Hawaii was in Caffrey Aloha, and that story also featured a performance of the song "Peace and Joy."

Neal's authentication niche in the lab was first described in The Dreamer.

Neal's New Year's Eve case and toasting the start of 2004 with Byron and June happened in By the Book; Byron died in Caffrey Flashback. Angela also described her father's funeral in Caffrey Flashback. Tuesday Tails was first described in Caffrey Flashback.

Neal joined a Christmas choir and met a former rock star in Choirboy Caffrey.

The scene where Neal's mother returned briefly from WITSEC and was cold to her sister was in Caffrey Disclosure. The Masterson Music sting featuring Neal as a member of Urban Legend was also in Caffrey Disclosure.

Stargazing has occurred in several stories, and my favorite instance is at the end of The Woman in Blue. That's also the story in which Peter & Neal were kidnapped and Travis helped El.


	9. Chapter 9 - Grandmother's House

_Chapter description: Neal finally tells Peter about breaking into his Caffrey grandparents' house._

 _A/N: Once upon a time (in By the Book) Neal refused to tell Peter what he'd done over his Christmas vacation. When I was writing the Wish on a Star vignette I'd thought that a good birthday present for Peter would be for Neal to tell the story of that vacation. However, the birthday vignette grew so long that it seemed best to split this into its own story. And here we are!_

 _This vignette opens in January 2005, during the first chapter of The Dreamer. Then it goes back to December 2003, during Caffrey Choirboy._

 _The story title is from a song I associate with holidays, with the line "over the river and through the wood, to grandmother's house we go."_

 **Burke Residence, Brooklyn. January 16, 2005. Sunday evening.**

Peter raised his glass and made a toast. "To victories at White Collar, Columbia, and Burke Premiere Events!"

The main topic of conversation during dinner had been what Peter, El and Neal envisioned for the future. As El plated dessert crepes, Peter decided it was time to bring up the past. "Last week you promised to tell me the story of what you did on your 2003 Christmas vacation. Let's hear it."

"You already heard it," Neal protested.

"No, on my birthday you provided a highly edited account of what you were up to. It's just us, now. No strangers, no kids. Tell us what really happened."

"I have to admit I want to hear more details," El added.

Neal set down his brandy. "Like I said on your birthday, Henry was on a campaign to convince me to meet our Caffrey relatives. He had a master plan, and it started with visiting our grandparents' home in D.C. while they were spending the holidays in New York."

 **Edmund & Irene Caffrey's home. December 26, 2003. Friday morning. **

Snow blanketed the lawn and frosted the mature trees that surrounded the house. Looking up through the falling snowflakes, Neal thought the oak tree could work for climbing up to the second-floor windows if Henry took much longer opening the front door. "You have the key, right?" Neal asked. He glanced toward the street. There wasn't much traffic, but he worried they were going to gather attention if they kept hanging out on the porch. Henry felt a need to show off by testing the security system and breaking in, but he was out of practice. He should have let the former cat burglar take the lead.

"Where's the fun in that? Just one more… There. Security system is off, and the door is open. Welcome home."

"Not my home," Neal said, as he stepped into their grandparents' house. "Not yours, either."

"Felt like home," Henry said, "especially when my parents were fighting."

It was homey, Neal had to admit. The wood floors had a warm glow, reminiscent of the house's yellow exterior paint. A seven-foot Christmas tree decorated in maroon stood near the banister, and across the room white and gold stockings hung from a stone fireplace. "I remember this."

"You would have been three, more or less, the last Christmas you spent here."

"There was hot chocolate."

"In the kitchen. Follow me, kiddo."

They entered a spacious, cheerful kitchen. The stainless-steel appliances looked new, and Neal didn't recognize the blue-and-cream striped wallpaper, but the creamy cabinets and chocolate brown granite countertops looked familiar.

While Henry opened a cabinet and retrieved two mugs and hot chocolate mix, Neal checked out a teddy bear cookie jar. It was full, and the cookies looked homemade. He brought the jar and two saucers to the kitchen table and sat down. Henry carried over the mugs. "What kind of cookies?"

"Looks like two varieties, chocolate chip and…" Neal pulled a cookie out of the jar and tasted it. "Applesauce cookies. My mom used to make these."

"All the best recipes came from your mom, as far as I can tell." Henry tried one of the chocolate chip cookies. "Now don't you feel stupid for being afraid of coming here? Our grandparents are great. Definitely better than Robert."

"It would take extreme effort to be as bad as Uncle Robert," Neal said. He turned his mug around. It had teddy bears on it. Henry's had honeybees. "What's with the animals?" he asked. There was a ladybug teapot, and the saucers he'd selected for the cookies had bunnies on them. The roll of paper towels had bunnies, too. "I expected fine china at an ambassador's house."

"They keep that stuff in the dining room. Kitchen's for family." Henry gestured toward the window. "Remember the yard?"

Neal looked out the bay window at the gently sloping yard. "I remember it being steeper. Didn't we sled down that hill?"

"That's right." Henry lifted his mug. "Want a refill?"

"Maybe later. What else did you want me to see?"

Henry rolled his eyes. "It's not a race. You can relax and enjoy the ambience."

"The cookies aren't going anywhere," Neal said, aware that Henry's sweet tooth could keep them in the kitchen for hours. "What's next?"

Next was the ambassador's study. A stately oak desk was centered on a blue and beige Persian rug, and the walls were lined with dark wooden bookshelves. Most of the shelves held books about law and policy, but to the side there was a mix of classic and popular literature. And one shelf featured the distinctive bright book covers of children's stories. On the lower shelves were well-worn books in easy reach of toddlers. Several shelves above that were photo albums. Henry pulled three albums out and shoved them into Neal's arms. Then he grabbed three more and carried them to the living room.

They sprawled on a rug in tones of yellow, beige and gold, and paged through the albums, starting with photos of Neal's grandparents as children.

With each page, Henry told stories he knew by heart. Sometimes Neal could hear a trace of a southern accent. That wasn't Henry's accent, but instead was him repeating the stories exactly as their southern belle grandmother had told them. At times, Neal could almost hear her voice as Henry spoke.

Henry had an agenda, of course. He wanted Neal to feel like he knew these people — grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins — so that he'd feel comfortable meeting them. In fact, he wanted to make Neal eager to meet them. That wasn't going to happen in a single day, but Neal did have to admit that his grandparents were intriguing.

They returned to the kitchen to make lunch. Neal had brought groceries so that their grandparents hopefully wouldn't notice their home had been invaded in their absence by two starving grandsons. After they ate he insisted on cleaning the dishes and putting everything away. As a burglar you learned to clean up after yourself as you went, and not to leave a lot of stuff lying around. That way if the homeowners came home early you could make a quick getaway without cluing in your victims immediately to the fact that they'd been robbed.

"Stop already," said Henry. "Sit down and tell me about the new job. Is this Peter guy treating you right?"

"Yeah." Neal had already told Henry about his deal with the FBI, and repeated his earlier assurances that Peter was a decent, honest guy who really wanted Neal to succeed.

"And the rest of the team?" Henry prompted.

"It's going to take a while to win them over. They decided to tail me over my lunch breaks to see what I was up to." He grinned. "I led the first guy to some sexually explicit gift shops. I wish I could've heard him describe it to the other agents. Then I took the rest of my tails Christmas caroling at local hospitals. That's how I met June — my new landlady. Her husband was at the hospital and when I played a Sinatra song for them it was like a match made in heaven. They wanted someone to keep Byron's mind off the pain by playing the music he loves and listening to his stories about his heyday as a con artist. He retired from that years ago, but he's got some incredible stories."

"I'd like to hear them." Henry paused. "You know, our grandparents have some incredible stories, too. They've traveled all over the world."

Neal raised a brow. He'd spent a couple of years in Europe himself, and had visited Asia as well.

"Yeah, yeah. You're a world traveler, too. Think of the stories you could swap with them."

"You really want me to tell them about breaking into the Louvre?"

Henry smiled. "How about telling me about it?"

"How about — " Neal was interrupted by a knock at the door. The albums. They'd left those photo albums scattered on the floor. If someone looked in the windows, they'd see the open albums, and realize someone was in the house.

"Henry!" It was a female voice. "Let me in!"

"Stay here," Henry ordered.

Of course Neal wasn't going to follow orders. He had an idea of who this might be, and he wanted to see her.

Henry opened the door. "You're supposed to be in New York."

She stepped onto the stone entryway, pulling a suitcase behind her. "I couldn't handle it. We went away to escape the memories of past Christmases that linger here, but then the Air Force asked the Ambassador to talk at a memorial for fallen airmen and instead of avoiding memories, it was like being at Dad's funeral all over again." She sniffed. "I'd rather be here with happy memories, than be in New York reliving the funeral."

Neal peeked around the Christmas tree. The newcomer was his younger cousin Angela. She had long, straight, dark hair, and was shorter than he'd expected. She barely reached Henry's shoulder.

"What are you standing there for?" Angela asked. She wiped her eyes and looked up at Henry. "Let me in."

"It's cold in here. The furnace is off. How about we go back to my hotel? We can have a nice long, talk, someplace neutral with no sad memories."

"Are you hiding something?" Angela stood on tiptoes and tried to look around Henry. "Or someone?" She caught her breath. "Is Neal here? Did you convince him to come?"

"I'm not ready to introduce you, yet," Henry said. "I didn't expect you to chase after me for another day."

"Well, I'm not leaving now," Angela insisted.

Neal stepped out from behind the tree and waved. "Hi."

"Neal! It _is_ you!" Angela darted to one side, and when Henry leaned in that direction, she moved to the other side and ran around him. She looked like she was going to hug Neal, then stopped at the last minute. "Hi. I'm Angela."

He grinned. "Yeah, I guessed. Henry's told me a lot about you."

"Same here." She jumped forward and hugged him, and jumped back again. Maybe it was all the animal motifs in the kitchen getting to him, but she reminded Neal of a bunny. "What have we got planned?"

"You think Henry would tell me?"

"I had hopes. He's pulling the man-of-mystery act again?"

They both turned to face Henry, who shrugged. "As if my plans could survive the two of you ganging up on me."

Angela smiled what she probably thought was an evil smile. "Then let me tell you about my plans."

"Nope," Henry said. "I'm the oldest. I'm in charge."

"Oh, c'mon."

Neal crossed his arms. "I'm the guest, right? Seems like I should pick what we do."

"It's obvious what we need to do," Henry insisted. "There's a club downtown that's open this evening."

"Who are we going to hear?" Angela asked.

"We're not going there to hear someone else."

"The Urban Legend con is on?" Neal asked.

"That's right. It's time to move forward with our plan to expose Masterson Music. We've waited long enough. We're bringing them down in 2004. That's my New Year's resolution. I've got my guitar in the car, and I borrowed one for Neal. Angela, they have a piano for you."

She bit her lip. "All three of us? But we've never performed together as a trio."

"Exactly. We need practice. I've performed with each of you enough to know what songs will work with all of us together." Henry rolled his eyes at their reluctance. "I've never been able to perform as Shawn Legend in D.C. for fear of a photo of me making it into the local papers, and our grandparents recognizing me. This is our only shot at singing here without any repercussions."

Neal studied him a moment. "When you said you didn't want me to buy you a gift for Christmas, this was why. I thought your gift was agreeing to explore this house with you, but it's singing together in D.C. That's what you really wanted."

"Yeah," Henry admitted.

"What do you say, Angela?"

"I don't know. If Henry didn't think I'd bolt from New York until tomorrow, he didn't intend for me to be part of this."

Henry put an arm around her shoulders. "That was the only flaw in my plan. It will be a much better gift if you join us." With that he won them over, and they took his car to his choice of restaurants for dinner, and then went to the club, where he'd already made arrangements with the manager for Urban Legend to perform.

After their performance, they went back to their grandparents' house. Henry convinced Neal it was safe to stay the night, as their grandparents knew Angela was staying there and wouldn't be surprised that Henry decided she shouldn't be alone with her memories of her father. There was no need to hide the fact that at least two grandchildren had been hanging out in their home while they were away.

Neal and Henry shared the bedroom that used to belong to their mothers. There were two beds on opposite sides of the room, and before they went to sleep Henry told stories he'd heard about the twin sisters when they were growing up. "See that tree right outside the window?" he asked.

A sturdy oak had limbs stretching toward the house. "Yeah."

"They used to sneak out sometimes by climbing down it."

So he'd guessed right about the tree being a potential entry to the house. Neal had been a decent tree-climber as a kid. "Interesting."

"We're not going to do that now," Henry cautioned. "We gotta turn out the lights soon, or Angela's going to wander in."

However, he didn't seem in a hurry to turn out those lights, and within ten minutes there was a knock on the door. "Hey, are you still awake?"

"Come in," Henry said.

Angela padded in, wearing a heavy velour dark green robe and matching slippers. "I can't sleep."

"Want to talk about your dad?" Henry asked. He sat cross-legged on his bed, and patted the space beside him.

Angela joined him and told a few stories about her father and past Christmases with him. Some of the stories happened in this house, but others were set at Air Force bases around the world. Being a world traveler was something else she had in common with Neal.

When she got choked up, Henry put an arm around her, and they were silent for a few minutes. Then he started talking about his plans for Urban Legend, and how they would expose Masterson Music's crimes. It would be a long con, requiring coordination over many months. With Henry in charge, naturally.

Or so they let Henry think. When he turned away to grab a pad of paper to make notes of his self-proclaimed brilliant ideas, Neal and Angela shared a look. They may have just met, but each was well acquainted with Henry's bossy ways. Together they could make sure he didn't get out of hand.

On Saturday, Henry let Angela take the lead and they visited her mother's house — Paige Caffrey was still in New York with her in-laws — and other favorite spots. They practiced singing together again, and added to their plans for Masterson Music.

Sunday morning Neal packed. His return flight wasn't until the afternoon, but he didn't want a last-minute rush. Then he fixed brunch for his cousins, as it turned out he was the superior cook among the three of them. As they finished eating Eggs Benedict, he turned to Angela and said, "I think meeting you might be the best Christmas gift I've ever received."

"Told you so," said Henry. "You're succumbing to my plan. By next December you'll be ready to spend Christmas with the whole clan."

Neal scoffed. "Not even you could pull that off."

He'd just started picking up the dishes, when they heard the front door open.

"Henry, Angela!" called out a woman whose voice sounded vaguely familiar.

The cousins looked at each other, frozen in place a moment.

"You said they weren't coming home until tonight," Neal whispered before bolting toward the backdoor.

Angela rushed to put the dishes in the dishwasher, so their grandparents wouldn't notice three places had been set at the table.

Henry slipped Neal his car keys. "Wait in the car for your luggage," he instructed. Then he strode into the living room to distract his grandparents. "What a great surprise. Mom! You, too?"

"We missed you," said his grandmother. "Where's Angela?"

She stepped out of the kitchen before Irene came looking for her.

Neal closed the door behind him as gently as possible, to avoid making any noise. He needed to get out of the yard, because that bay window in the kitchen had an expansive view. He stayed close to the house, and tried to step in places shielded by the bushes, where there wasn't much snow, so he wouldn't leave visible footprints. Then he walked casually toward Henry's car down the block, acting like he belonged in the neighborhood and wasn't in a panic.

At least he had to give credit to Henry for not pushing him into the living room and making introductions. As eager as Henry was for him to meet more of the family, he recognized that Neal needed more time to get used to the idea.

Neal unlocked the trunk and pulled out a brush he used to remove the snow from the car. He took his time, and soon after he finished, he was surprised to see Angela pulling her luggage along with his own. "My mom returned too, but went straight to her house from the airport. I want to check on her, so it was easier for me to leave." She had a rental car, and had given its keys to Henry. They took Henry's rental to the airport and dropped it off. Then Angela caught a taxi to her mom's house.

Hanging out at the airport until his flight, Neal watched families go by on their way home from Christmas vacations. He and his mom hadn't traveled much over the holidays. Money was tight, and although he hadn't known it in their WITSEC identities, her real birthday fell on Christmas Day. It meant she missed her family even more that time of year, which probably increased her depression.

The last two days with Henry and Angela had given him a taste of what holidays with the Caffreys could be like. It felt strange and awkward at times, but mostly he'd liked it. Could Henry be right, that he'd be ready for a full family reunion a year from now?

 **Burke Residence, Brooklyn. January 16, 2005. Sunday evening.**

El laughed. "It makes me wonder… There's no way Henry manipulated his mother into marrying Joe over the holidays, just so you'd go to Hawaii with the Caffreys for the wedding, right?"

Neal paused to consider it. "Not with everything else going on in his life recently. But I'm sure he would have concocted an elaborate Christmas scheme if the wedding had been scheduled for another time of year."

Peter couldn't be more satisfied, reflecting on the fact that last month Neal had spent his first big family Christmas with both the Caffrey and the Burke families. "Thanks for finally telling me the story."

Neal shrugged. "Nothing much happened, and you must have guessed most of it over the last year. It feels like a bit of a let-down."

"Not to me. You've come a long way since December 2003. I'm proud of you." Peter was determined to keep repeating that, as Neal had suffered a bit of a crisis over the holidays. The kid worried he wasn't reformed enough and had failed Peter. "Back when you made that trip to D.C. I'd never heard of Angela, and I doubted Henry Winslow even existed."

With that Neal chuckled. "You suspected the stories I told about him were made up, to keep you guessing about me and my past."

If Peter had a complaint, it was the fact that secrets from Neal's past kept bubbling up. The kid still had some learning to do regarding the concept of full disclosure, but they were working on it. If 2004 had been the year Neal had learned to let family into his life, maybe 2005 would be the year he learned to trust his family — especially uncle-by-marriage Peter — to accept him and all of his past exploits and flaws.

It wouldn't be easy. Neal had been a con artist for a long time, and had gotten into the habit of presenting a smooth image of someone too perfect to be real. He kept his fears and doubts hidden. He'd even repressed parts of his past so deeply that he'd forgotten certain events, but those memories resurfaced last year. And this year was off to a good start, with Neal sharing a story in which he admitted being afraid to let more people into his life.

There was a little brandy left his in glass, and Peter raised it again. At the wedding that united the Burke and Caffrey families on New Year's Day, Henry made a toast that resonated with Peter now, and he repeated the ending. "To family."

Neal and El raised their glasses. "To family!"

 _A/N: Happy New Year, and thanks for reading!_

 _See our blog (Penna Nomen and Silbrith Conversation) for an updated list of stories in order, with each vignette broken out separately. I've also added pins for this story to the Caffrey Vignettes Pinterest board._

 _References to other stories in the Caffrey Conversation series include:_

Peter's opening toast is a line from the first chapter of The Dreamer, and this vignette opens right after he makes that toast.

In By the Book, Neal refuses to tell Peter what he did in D.C. on his vacation. Peter isn't sure if Neal is just teasing him, or if he has something to hide. In a previous vignette — Wish on a Star — Neal finally tells an abbreviated version of what he and Henry did in D.C., and Peter decides he needs to invite Neal over for dinner to get the full story.

The animals in the kitchen are inspired by the nicknames their grandparents gave Henry, Neal and Angela. We learn in Caffrey Disclosure that Neal was Baby Bear, and in Caffrey Aloha we learn Angela was Funny Bunny and Henry was Tickle Bug.

In Choirboy Caffrey, Neal leads the team members tailing him to hospitals, and he meets June & Byron Ellington.

The Masterson Music sting with Urban Legend occurs in Caffrey Disclosure.

The wedding of Noelle Caffrey Winslow (Henry's mom) and Joe Burke (Peter's brother) occurs in Caffrey Aloha.

Neal's repressed memories return in Caffrey Flashback.


End file.
